A    VAGRANT    TUNE 


A   VAGRANT    TUNE 

BY 

BRYAN  T.  HOLLAND 


BOSTON 
SMALL,  MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE   MURRAY   PRINTING   COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE,    MASS. 


'  From  a  briar-grown  garden  that  nobody  knows, 

Save  one  lone  bird  with  a  vagrant  tune, 
The  dreamer  gathers  a  last  sad  rose, 

The  ghost  of  a  season  that  once  was  June. 

'  Pale  are  the  blossoms  that  cluster  here, 

And  lonesome  the  song  of  the  mateless  bird, 
Yet  linger  and  listen,  O  Sweet  and  Dear, 
You  shall  catch  of  my  soul  the  secret  word.' 

LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON 
(in  The  Garden  of  Dreams) 


213S044   ' 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  village  of  Diddlebury  lies  at  the  other  end 
of  nowhere  —  that  is  to  say,  a  couple  of  miles  or 
so  off  the  main  road  which  runs  from  the  market 
town  of  Little  Frippon  to  the  Cathedral  city  of 
Purchester  and  thence  to  the  coast. 

No  one,  unless  he  is  a  resident  or  has  some 
business  to  transact  in  the  village,  ever  ventures 
to  turn  off  the  highway  on  to  the  loop  lane  which 
eventually,  after  pursuing  a  leisurely  way  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  merges  into  '  the  street,'  as  the 
natives  call  it,  and  issuing  again  out  of  the  ham- 
let rejoins  the  Purchester  road  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  spot  where  it  left  it.  Very 
occasionally  a  stray  pedestrian  or  motorist  finds 
himself  in  the  village  by  accident,  but  when  that 
happens  the  inhabitants  view  him  with  such  sus- 
picion that  he  is  quite  relieved  to  get  out  of  the 
place  with  all  possible  speed. 

Just  before  the  houses  begin  there  is  another 


2  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

road  running  off  at  right  angles,  but  that  only 
leads  up  to  the  Heath,  and  is  chiefly  used  by 
those  who,  whether  for  amatory  or  ambulatory 
reasons,  wish  to  reach  that  salubrious  spot,  and 
it  dies  an  early  death  among  some  farm  buildings 
just  beyond  the  open  space  where  gorse  and 
heather  and  harebells  jostle  one  another  in  the 
crowd,  and  where  the  wild  thyme  makes  a  fra- 
grant bed  upon  which  to  lie  and  listen  to  the  larks 
quivering  the  air  with  beating  wings  and  pouring 
out  their  ecstatic  song,  their  grace  for  the  blue 
sky  and  white  clouds  and  all  the  maddening 
beauty  of  a  world  bathed  in  golden  sunshine. 

It  was  half-way  up  this  hill  leading  to  the 
Heath  that  Miss  Lavender's  cottage  stood,  sepa- 
rated from  the  road  by  a  narrow  strip  of  garden, 
gay  for  at  least  six  months  of  the  year  with  old- 
fashioned  flowers,  and  with  a  gray  flagged  path 
running  up  to  the  front  door,  between  the  worn 
stones  of  which  yellow  stonecrop  and  purple 
aubretia  and  soft  green  moss  insisted  upon  grow- 
ing. Miss  Lavender  loved  these  uninvited  plants 
almost  as  much  as  she  did  the  gillyflowers  and 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  3 

verbenas  and  hollyhocks  resting  sedately  on 
their  beds  of  warm  brown  soil  on  either  side, 
but  Euphemia  never  saw  them  poking  out  their 
perky  little  heads  year  after  year  without  ex- 
claiming aloud.  When  she  had  been  younger 
and  better  able  to  stoop,  she  had  made,  periodi- 
cally, onslaughts  upon  them  with  a  broken 
kitchen  fork  kept  for  that  express  purpose;  but 
they  had  only,  as  it  were,  jeered  at  her  for  her 
pains  and  come  up  the  following  spring  in 
greater  profusion  than  ever,  until  at  last,  sooner 
than  acknowledge  defeat,  she  had  made  the  ex- 
cuse of  rheumatics  and  left  them  to  work  their 
wicked  will  unmolested,  to  Miss  Lavender's  se- 
cret joy  and  her  own  unconcealed  annoyance. 
Euphemia  was  Miss  Lavender's  domestic,  and 
had  been  so  for  so  long  that  the  two  had  in- 
sensibly drifted  into  a  relationship  far  closer 
than  that  usually  existing  between  mistress  and 
maid.  For  something  like  forty  years  she  had 
served  Miss  Lavender  with  such  complete  single- 
ness of  purpose,  that  service  had  become  the 
pivot  upon  which  everything  else  turned,  and  her 


4  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

mistress  the  one  person  in  the  world  who  mat- 
tered. Side  by  side  the  two  of  them  had  passed 
through  the  various  phases  of  life,  had  faced 
sorrow  and  happiness,  hope  and  disappointment; 
side  by  side  they  had  watched  the  years  slip 
away,  adding  here  a  wrinkle,  there  a  gray  hair; 
and  side  by  side  they  now  stood  on  the  shadowy 
western  slope  with  the  brow  of  the  hill  at  their 
backs,  and  the  valley,  through  which  they  each 
must  journey  alone,  lying  wrapt  in  the  mists  of 
evening  at  their  feet. 

A  few  people — those  who  could  not  under- 
stand that  love  breaks  through  all  barriers,  even 
those  social  ones  set  up  by  man  —  were  apt  to 
consider  that  Miss  Lavender  allowed  her  old 
servant  a  great  deal  too  much  freedom  of  speech 
and  was  altogether  on  too  familiar  terms  with 
her;  but  then  they  looked  at  the  matter  from 
their  own  standpoint  and  tried  to  imagine  their 
little  Mauds  and  Emilys  demanding  to  know 
whether  they  had  changed  their  damp  boots 
directly  they  came  in,  and  if  not  why  not,  and 
naturally  the  picture  was  beyond  them.  The 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  5 

particular  Maud  or  Emily  who  presumed  to  lec- 
ture her  mistress  on  the  folly  of  sitting  in  wet 
shoes  would  inevitably  have  left  at  the  end  of 
her  month,  and  it  was  outside  their  powers  of 
reasoning  to  grasp  the  fact  that  Euphemia  was 
something  quite  apart  from  the  ordinary 
'  general.' 

Miss  Lavender's  house  was,  like  its  owner, 
small  and  neat  and  clean  as  a  new  pin.  The 
dining-room,  on  the  left  of  the  front  door  as  you 
entered,  had  only  one  window  looking  out 
towards  the  road  across  the  strip  of  garden,  and 
behind  it,  separated  by  a  narrow  passage,  was 
the  kitchen.  The  drawing-room  was  the  other 
side  of  the  hall  and  staircase,  a  long  narrow  room 
with  a  window  at  one  end  corresponding  to  that 
in  the  dining-room  and  at  the  other  a  glass  door 
which  led  out  into  a  small  enclosure,  half  gar- 
den, half  orchard,  surrounded  by  a  high  red  brick 
wall,  so  mellowed  by  time  that  it  was  almost  the 
colour  of  the  roses  which  climbed  up  it  and 
nodded  over  the  top  to  the  stolid  cattle  in  the 
meadow  beyond,  which  cattle,  since  roses  are  not 


6  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

good  for  food,  remained  callously  indifferent  to 
their  charms,  much  as  an  alderman  at  a  city 
banquet  remains  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  the 
ladies  in  the  balcony  who  watch  him  eat. 

In  one  corner  of  this  wall,  close  up  against  the 
house,  was  a  door  opening  out  on  to  a  by-lane, 
but  it  was  so  many  years  since  it  had  been  used 
that  it  was  doubtful  whether  it  would  still  swing 
on  its  hinges,  even  if  it  had  not  been  locked  and 
the  key  lost.  This  door,  nevertheless,  was  a 
source  of  much  uneasiness  to  Euphemia,  who 
had  a  rooted  conviction,  which  nothing  served  to 
eradicate,  that  '  some  fine  day  '  a  tramp  would 
discover  this  means  of  ingress  and,  proceeding 
to  batter  it  down,  would  burst  in  upon  Miss 
Lavender  in  the  drawing-room  and  compel  her, 
at  the  point  of  the  pistol,  to  hand  over  her  purse 
and  the  few  simple  articles  of  jewellery  which 
she  wore.  She  had  insisted  upon  planting  a  row 
of  hollies  across  the  recess  in  which  the  door 
stood,  in  order  to  make  his  entry  as  unpleasant 
as  possible,  and  she  contemplated  the  havoc  that 
would  be  wrought  upon  his  garments,  not  to 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  7 

mention  his  person,  with  a  kind  of  melancholy 
satisfaction,  but  that  anything  would  keep  him 
out  when  he  did  come  she  steadily  refused  to 
believe  for  a  single  instant.  Miss  Lavender  had 
once  tentatively  suggested  the  advisability  of 
keeping  a  dog  as  a  means  of  protection,  but  Eu- 
phemia  had  opposed  the  scheme  on  the  grounds 
that  a  dog  included  fleas,  and  that,  on  the  whole, 
the  uncertain  burglar  was  a  lesser  evil  than  the 
certain  flea. 

Miss  Lavender's  other  name  was  Mottram, 
but  nobody  in  the  village  ever  dreamt  of  calling 
her  by  it,  and  had  it  not  been  for  her  infrequent 
correspondence  she  might  almost  have  forgotten 
it  herself.  As  for  Euphemia,  she  presumably  had 
a  surname  once  upon  a  time,  but  what  it  had 
been  was  a  secret  locked  up  in  her  own  bosom, 
and  she  was  quite  content  to  be  known  as  '  Miss 
Lavender's  Euphemia.' 

Diddlebury  held  her  in  high  esteem  as  one 
who  could,  when  occasion  required,  use  the 
rough  side  of  her  tongue,  and  he  was  a  brave 
fellow  among  the  tradesmen  who  dared  venture 


8  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

to  cross  swords  with  her,  for  she  called  a  spade 
a  spade  without  any  regard  whatever  for  the 
feelings  of  that  humble  implement,  and  even 
Mrs.  Bowers,  the  rector's  wife,  who  considered 
it  her  mission  in  life  to  regulate  the  affairs  of  the 
whole  parish  down  to  the  smallest  details,  hesi- 
tated before  bearding  her  in  her  den! 

Towards  Miss  Lavender  her  attitude  was  a 
queer  mixture  of  humility  and  self-assertiveness. 
She  never  thought  twice  about  speaking  out  her 
mind  freely  when  her  mistress  did  anything 
which  she  considered  might  be  derogatory  to  her 
dignity  or  injurious  to  her  health,  but  woe  betide 
anybody  else  who  presumed  to  criticise !  Home- 
truths  fell  about  their  shoulders  like  hailstones, 
and  they  were  left  with  no  illusions  as  to  their 
own  characters.  A  lioness  defending  her  cubs 
was  not  fiercer  than  Euphemia  defending  Miss 
Lavender  against  her  critics! 

It  is  a  curious  but  undeniable  fact  that  the  less 
eventful  life  is,  the  more  swiftly  does  time  move, 
and  such  was  certainly  the  case  with  these  two 
living  their  quiet  existence  in  the  small  house  on 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  9 

the  hill.  One  day  told  another,  and  one  night 
certified  another  with  so  little  to  mark  the  differ- 
ence, that  the  most  trivial  deviation  from  the 
ordinary  routine  of  life,  which  in  most  house- 
holds would  have  passed  unnoticed,  seemed  to 
them  events  of  soul-stirring  importance. 

There  had,  of  course,  been  happenings  of  local 
interest,  apart  from  purely  personal  ones,  to  ex- 
cite the  village  and  rouse  it  to  a  state  of  vivacity 
almost  bordering  on  frenzy,  such  as,  for  instance, 
that  never-to-be-forgotten  occasion  when  the 
west  gallery  of  the  church  collapsed  in  the 
middle  of  the  rector's  sermon,  narrowly  escaping 
killing  the  sexton  who  was  slumbering  peacefully 
behind  one  of  its  wooden  pillars,  and  who  was 
extricated  from  the  ruins  unhurt,  but  more  dead 
than  alive  with  terror,  being  firmly  convinced, 
despite  assurances  to  the  contrary,  that  it  was 
the  end  of  the  world.  A  good  many  people,  at 
the  time,  thought  that  it  had  something  to  do 
with  the  choir  having  been  put  into  cassocks  and 
surplices,  but,  as  the  sexton  justly  remarked,  it 
was  rather  hard  that  he  should  be  the  one  singled 


10  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

out  for  retribution  even  if  his  wife  did  do  the 
church  washing. 

Diddlebury  is  very  loyal,  and  waves  flags  on 
Empire  Day  with  great  gusto,  but  the  Throne  is 
one  of  the  few  institutions  it  shares  in  common 
with  the  outside  world.  Battle,  murder,  or 
sudden  death  moves  half  a  continent  to  wonder, 
horror,  or  grief,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  Diddle- 
bury remains  callously  indifferent,  though  the 
demise  of  the  carrier's  horse  will  stir  it  to  its 
very  foundations. 

New  ideas  gain  ground  but  slowly  in  the  little 
out-of-the-way  hamlet;  in  fact  it  might  almost 
be  said  that  what  Diddlebury  thinks  to-day, 
England  thought  the  day  before  yesterday,  and 
the  stranger  in  the  place  who  cannot  satisfac- 
torily explain  his  presence  is  viewed  with  just 
suspicion.  The  rising  generation  accept  the  tele- 
graph as  an  acknowledged  fact  simply  because 
they  have  been  brought  up  to  it,  but  there  are 
still  those  among  the  older  inhabitants  who 
shake  their  heads  over  the  innovation  and  lay  to 
its  charge  every  thunderstorm  which  visits  the 
district,  while  telephones  they  regard  as  some- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  11 

thing  to  be  religiously  avoided  by  all  who  value 
the  welfare  of  their  souls.  What  would  happen 
if  by  any  chance  an  airman  happened  to  descend 
in  their  midst  is  too  terrible  to  contemplate, 
since  a  motor-cyclist  very  nearly  caused  the 
death  of  old  Mrs.  Smith,  who  was  standing  at 
her  garden  gate  when  he  came  by  at  the  rate  of 
some  forty  miles  an  hour,  she  being  firmly  con- 
vinced that  he  was  a  visitant  from  another 
world,  and  that  not  a  better  one!  In  time,  no 
doubt,  telephones  and  electric  light  and  '  com- 
pany's water '  will  find  their  way  to  Diddlebury, 
but  with  their  advent  something  of  the  sturdy 
independence  of  the  place  will  be  taken  away, 
and,  instead  of  standing  alone,  it  will  become  a 
mere  appendage  to  Little  Frippon.  Already  the 
cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand  has  arisen 
in  the  shape  of  a  proposal,  emanating  from  some 
of  the  more  adventurous  spirits  among  the 
younger  inhabitants,  to  introduce  a  system  of 
drainage  into  the  village,  but  Diddlebury,  as  a 
whole,  is  strongly  averse  to  burying  its  individu- 
ality in  a  sewer,  and  long  may  it  continue  to  be 
so! 


CHAPTER  II 

BEHIND  Miss  Lavender's  cottage,  on  the  fur- 
ther side  of  the  meadow  beyond  the  red  brick 
wall,  stood  a  large,  gray,  stone  house  known  as 
Starr  Cross.  Once  upon  a  time,  but  so  long  ago 
that  only  those  who  were  grown  up  could  recol- 
lect it,  a  large  noisy  family  of  boys  and  girls  had 
inhabited  it,  but  one  by  one  they  had  gone  out 
into  the  world,  and  the  father  and  mother  had 
died,  and,  somehow  or  other,  nobody  had  come 
to  take  their  place,  so  that  for  years  the  house 
had  remained  empty  and  desolate,  the  glass 
broken  in  the  window-panes,  the  doors  rotted  on 
their  hinges,  while  in  the  garden  the  trees  and 
bushes,  with  no  one  to  cut  them  back,  had  grown 
together  into  a  thick  tangle  of  branches  meeting 
across  what  had  once  been  paths,  completely  ob- 
literating them,  and  even  encroaching  upon  the 
drive  itself,  so  that,  before  long,  any  one  wishing 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  13 

to  reach  the  front  door  would  have  to  cut  a  way 
through  like  the  prince  in  Sleeping  Beauty. 

It  had  never  been  rightly  explained  how  it 
ever  happened  that  the  house  had  been  allowed 
to  get  into  such  a  state  of  decay,  but  it  was  popu- 
larly supposed  that,  the  owner  of  the  property 
having  died  abroad,  his  heirs  had  lacked  either 
the  means  or  the  energy  to  put  it  into  order,  and, 
after  vainly  endeavouring  for  some  years  to  sell 
it,  had  simply  given  up  the  attempt,  and  left  it  to 
fall  to  pieces  of  its  own  accord. 

Hardly  to  be  wondered  at  was  it  that  the  house 
had  gained  the  reputation  of  being  haunted,  or 
that  there  was  nobody  in  the  village  who  would 
willingly  have  gone  by  it  after  dark.  There  was, 
luckily,  no  need  to  do  this  last  thing,  as  Starr 
Cross  stood  well  away  by  itself,  and  the  sole  ap- 
proach to  it  was  down  the  by-lane  which  led  past 
the  gate  into  Miss  Lavender's  back  garden,  that 
gate  which  Euphemia  had  so  carefully  fortified 
against  invaders. 

Miss  Lavender  herself  always  felt  a  sneaking 
dread  of  what  she  might  see  from  the  staircase 


14  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

window  on  her  way  up  to  bed,  especially  on 
bright  moonlight  nights,  and,  if  the  blind  hap- 
pened to  have  been  left  undrawn,  hurried  by 
with  averted  eyes,  while  Euphemia,  whose  bed- 
room looked  right  across  the  meadow  to  the 
shrubbery,  was  frankly  and  avowedly  terrified 
lest  the  ghost  should  some  time  elect  to  leave  its 
own  precincts  and,  wandering  afield,  make  its 
way  in  her  direction.  Now  and  then,  in  a  sudden 
access  of  panic,  she  would  get  out  of  bed  and  ar- 
range straws  crosswise  on  the  sill  lest  it  should 
take  it  into  its  head  to  climb  in  at  her  window, 
but  she  was  slightly  ashamed  of,  and  never  con- 
fessed to,  this  weakness. 

It  was  Mrs.  Brill  who  first  brought  the  news 
that  Starr  Cross  was  actually  taken. 

Mrs.  Brill,  or  'that  there  Caroline'  as  she  was 
contemptuously  designated  by  Euphemia,  was 
the  lady  whose  services  were  requisitioned  at 
those  times  of  domestic  upheaval  which  involved 
any  additional  labour,  such  as  the  annual  Spring- 
clean,  and  the  rare  occasions  upon  which  Miss 
Lavender,  like  Hans  Breitmann,  gave  a  party. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  15 

She  also  'obliged'  one  day  a  week  by  coming  in 
to  do  some  of  the  rough  work,  an  obligation 
which  put  four  shillings  into  her  pocket  each  Sat- 
urday evening,  and,  incidentally,  a  nice  little 
sum  into  the  till  of  the  bar-parlour  of  the  'Uni- 
corn,' Mr.  Brill  never  failing  to  exact  a  substan- 
tial toll  out  of  his  wife's  earnings. 

Mr.  Brill  was  by  way  of  posing  as  a  carpenter, 
but,  as  Caroline  very  truly  observed,  it  was  only 
by  *  fits  and  starts'  that  he  pursued  his  legitimate 
calling,  preferring  to  spend  his  time  at  the  one 
public-house  of  which  the  village  boasted,  airing 
his  views  as  to  the  superiority  of  the  British 
workman,  and  apostrophising  those  who  were 
sensible  enough  to  remain  on  good  terms  with 
their  employers  as  'beggarly  parasites,'  a  term 
of  opprobrium  of  the  meaning  of  which  he  was 
entirely  ignorant,  though  it  shocked  his  wife, 
who  had  an  idea  that  it  had  something  to  do 
with  murdering  your  father.  She  knew  better 
however,  poor  soul,  than  to  expostulate  with  him 
on  the  subject,  for  he  did  not  carry  his  theories 
of  the  equality  of  all  men  into  his  home  life, 


16  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

and  was  rather  apt  to  'form  'asty  judgments,' 
as  she  put  it,  which  resolved  itself  into  brute 
force  being  employed  if  she  ventured  to  hold  an 
opposite  opinion  to  her  lord  and  master. 

Euphemia  never  knew  which  of  the  two  to  pity 
most,  and  was  quite  unable  to  decide  in  her  own 
mind  which  of  them  was  cause,  and  which  effect, 
though  she  was  slightly  inclined  to  believe  that 
Caroline  was  enough  to  drive  anybody  to  drink. 

1  'Alf  an  hour  of  'er  nearly  sends  me  mad,  so 
what  it  must  be  to  find  yourself  tied  up  to  'er 
for  life  don't  bear  thinking  of,'  she  observed  once 
to  Miss  Lavender. 

'But  he  needn't  have  married  her  in  the  first 
instance,'  Miss  Lavender  pointed  out  with  some 
show  of  reason. 

'That's  not  for  us  to  say  'oo  didn't  know  'er 
mother,'  Euphemia  said  darkly.  'I'll  never  be- 
lieve, for  one,  that  Caroline  went  off  without  a 
good  strong  push  from  be'ind,  and  from  all  ac- 
counts 'er  mother  'ad  the  knack  of  bringing  a 
man  to  see  reason,  leastways  she  managed  to  get 
three  'usbands  for  'erself.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  17 

The  days  on  which  Euphemia  was  forced  not 
only  to  do  her  own  work  but  to  superintend  that 
of  Caroline  were  always  a  sore  trial  to  her.  She 
was  glad  to  be  spared  the  arduous  task  of  scrub- 
bing floors,  but  it  galled  her  nevertheless  to 
watch  her  understudy's  slow  movements,  and 
she  was  fond  of  comparing  her  own  methods  with 
those  of  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Brill,  to  the  great 
disadvantage  of  the  latter. 

The  floors  she  had  scrubbed  you  could  have 
eaten  your  dinner  off  afterwards,  had  you  been 
minded  so  to  do,  but  in  these  days  a  lick  and  a 
promise  seemed  all  that  was  thought  necessary, 
and  as  for  moving  out  the  dresser  and  cleaning 
behind  it,  well,  she'd  be  sorry  to  look  there  and 
see  the  dirt  there  must  be!  One  of  these  fine 
days  she'd  go  down  on  her  knees,  rheumatics  or 
no  rheumatics,  and  just  show  Caroline  how  it 
ought  to  be  done. 

Another  thing  which  exasperated  Euphemia 
was  the  habit  Mrs.  Brill  had  of  keeping  up  a 
continual  steady  flow  of  conversation,  never 
adhering  to  one  subject  for  more  than  a  few 


18  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

seconds  at  a  time,  so  that  it  required  a  series  of 
mental  leaps  and  bounds  to  follow  her.  She 
flitted  among  the  various  bits  of  gossip  she  had 
picked  up  during  the  week,  like  a  bumble-bee 
among  flowers,  bridging  the  gulf  which  separated 
them  with  ruminations  of  her  own,  expecting 
neither  question  nor  comment,  though  humbly 
grateful  if  her  listener  displayed  the  slightest  in- 
terest in  what  she  was  talking  about. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  discursive  rambles 
that  she  imparted  the  information  about  Starr 
Cross  already  mentioned,  and,  as  usual,  she  had 
begun  far  away  from  the  topic. 

'  I  'ear  the  comic  's  coming  to  England,'  she 
had  remarked  from  underneath  the  kitchen  table, 
where  she  happened  to  be  at  the  moment,  en- 
gaged in  washing  that  bit  of  the  floor. 

1  'Oo  's  'e  ?  '  inquired  Euphemia,  addressing 
her  through  the  intervening  woodwork  without 
enthusiasm. 

1  It's  not  an  'e,  it's  one  o'  them  stars  with  a 
tail  shooting  'ither  and  thither  in  the  'eavens  as 
the  fancy  takes  it,'  explained  Caroline. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  19 

'  A  comet,  you  mean/  corrected  Euphemia. 
1 1  thought,  for  the  minute,  you  meant  one  o' 
them  black  monarchs.' 

1  Well,  any'ow,  I  'ope  it  won't  do  any  damage,' 
Caroline  said  doubtfully. 

'  Why  should  it  ?  '  queried  Euphemia. 

'  You  never  seem  to  know  where  you  are  with 
them  'eavenly  bodies,'  was  the  reply  in  a  some- 
what less  muffled  voice,  Caroline  having  emerged 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table  by  this  time. 

'  A  railway  train,  now,'  she  continued  medita- 
tively, '  'as  its  own  appointed  limits  to  keep, 
unless  there's  an  accident,  and  even  then  it  don't 
do  more  than  run  down  an  embankment  or  fall 
off  a  bridge,  underneath  which  no  person  in  their 
senses  would  choose  for  to  stand,  not  without  it 
was  a  tramp,  tramps  using  sech  places  to  sleep 
in.  A  comic,  on  the  other  'and,  not  'aving  fixed 
lines  on  which  to  run,  ain't  any  more  responsible 
for  its  goings  on  than  an  omblibus  without  a 
driver,  and  if  it  takes  it  into  its  'ead  to  fly  in 
through  your  bedroom  winder  there's  no  one  to 
gainsay  it,  so  far  as  I  can  see,' 


20  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

I  There  was  a  comet  when  I  was  a  gal,  but  as 
far  as  I  remember  it  just  'ung  from  the  sky  by 
its  tail  and  did  no  'arm/  recollected  Euphemia. 

'  But  this  'ere  one's  made  up  with  laughing- 
gas,'  said  Caroline  a  trifle  anxiously.  '  Accord- 
ing to  a  gentleman  'oo  stargazes  in  Paris,  it'll 
make  us  all  die  o'  laughing,  which  sounds  to  me 
'ardly  respectable,  though,  to  be  sure,  what 
might  befall  anybody  at  the  dentist's  'aving  a 
tooth  pulled  out  by  gas. 

I 1  don't  'old  with  prophesiers,  though,'  she 
went  on  after  a  pause.   'What  I  sez  is  if  any- 
thing unpleasant  'as  got  to  'appen,  the  less  we 
knows  about  it  before'and  the  better.    It  must 
be  dreadful  seeing  all  the  'orrible  things  that  are 
going  to  'appen,  and  not  be  able  so  much  as  to 
lift  a  finger  to  stop  'em,  like  that  Old  Moore, 
'ooever  'e  may  be.   The  rector  come  in  to  pay 
a  procul  visit  on  me,  a  while  back,  and  see'd  the 
almanac  lying  on  the  table,  and  'e  was  quite  put 
out  about  it.   Vain  supposition  'e  called  it,  but 
if  you  asked  me  I  should  say  liver  'ad  something 
to  do  with  it,  for  no  man  living  could  look  so 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  21 

persistent  on  the  black  side  of  things  without 
their  inside  was  out  o'  order.  I  'aven't  spent 
fifteen  years  married  to  Brill  without  'aving  to 
suffer  many  things  along  o'  'is  liver.  Once  that 
gets  wrong  everything's  wrong,  and  do  what  one 
may,  one  can't  please  'im,  'e  's  that  full  o' 
crotchets  and  quavers.  I  declare  to  goodness 
that  if  it  wasn't  for  the  thought  of  the  'arps  I'd 
almost  be  glad  to  go.' 

'  If  it  wasn't  for  what  'arps  ?  '  asked  Euphe- 
mia  irritably. 

'  The  'arps  I  should  'ave  to  play  in  'eaven,' 
explained  Caroline.  Tve  always  'ad  a  distaste 
for  string  instruments  ever  since  an  uncle  o'  mine 
took  lessons  on  the  banjo.  They  seem  to  make 
my  'ead  twang.'  For  a  few  seconds  she  scrubbed 
on  in  silence,  then  a  sudden  thought  seemed  to 
strike  her,  for  she  sat  back  on  her  heels,  after 
depositing  her  various  implements  on  the  floor, 
and  gazed  out  of  the  window  with  a  far-away 
look  in  her  eye. 

'  There's  always  the  'ope,  of  course,  that  Brill 
may  be  took  first/  she  observed  rather  more 


22  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

cheerfully.  'Not  that  wild  'orses  'ud  drag  me  to 
the  halter  again  if  I  'ad  the  good  fortune  to  be 
left  a  widder  to-morrow;  but  there,  I  never  was 
one  o'  the  lucky  ones  like  mother.' 

*  Three  times,  wasn't  it  ? '  inquired  Euphemia 
with  a  sudden  display  of  interest. 

Caroline  nodded  complacently. 

1  But  I  was  all  the  family  she  ever  'ad,'  she 
said.  'She  felt  that.' 

'  She  would  !  '  Euphemia  said  decidedly. 

'Ah  yes,  she  did.  "You  ain't  much  to  show 
for  three  'usbands,"  many  and  many's  the  time 
I've  'card  'er  say,  when  she  was  a  bit  put  out 
like.  I  was  never  brought  up  to  think  too  much 
o'  my  looks  as  some  is.' 

'  Which  per'aps  was  just  as  well,'  remarked 
Euphemia  caustically.  'Life's  full  o'  disappoint- 
ments as  it  is  without  'aving  them  thrust  upon 
us  by  others.' 

'  You  might  well  say  so  if  you  was  married,' 
Caroline  said  despondently,  resuming  her  work 
with  a  deep  sigh.  'For  if  ever  there  was  a  dis- 
appointment in  this  world  it's  Brill.  Not  but 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  23 

what  I  'ope  I  know  my  duty  towards  'im,'  she 
added  hastily.  'It  sez  in  the  Bible  that  the  'us- 
band  shall  rule  over  'is  wife,  though  o'  course 
that  was  said  about  Adam,  and  'e  being  an  Asi- 
atic would  naturally  expect  to  keep  'is  wife  in 
objection,  as  they  do  to  this  day,  or  so  I've  'card 
tell,  shutting  'em  up  in  'arems  and  never  letting 
'em  see  another  man,  much  less  speak  to  one, 
and  'owever  they  do  their  shopping  it  beats  me 
to  think.  I'm  sure  I'm  not  surprised  they've 
started  banana  missions  for  the  poor  creatures.' 

*  'Ow  you  do  rattle  on,  to  be  sure,'  said  Euphe- 
mia  impatiently.  'It  makes  me  tired  to  listen  to 
you,  what  with  your  'arems  and  'arps  and  stars 
and  what  not.' 

'And  that  reminds  me,  'ave  you  'card  that 
Starr  Cross  is  took  ?  '  asked  Caroline. 

The  reception  of  this  item  of  information  was 
more  than  even  Mrs.  Brill  had  dared  hope  for. 
Euphemia  dropped  the  basin  she  happened  to 
be  holding  in  her  hands  at  the  time  with  a  loud 
crash  on  to  the  floor  at  her  feet,  where  it  lay 
shivered  into  a  thousand  atoms,  while  she  her- 


24  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

self  sat  down  abruptly  in  the  nearest  chair,  clasp- 
ing her  heart  with  both  hands. 

*  Never !  '  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  utter 
incredulity. 

'  It's  as  true  as  I  stand  'ere,'  declared  Caroline, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  words  with  the  aid  of 
the  kitchen  table. 

'I  don't  believe  it.  'Oo  told  you  ?  '  Euphemia 
demanded  to  know. 

'The  very  words  I  used  meself  when  first  I 
'card  of  it,'  observed  Caroline,  gratified  beyond 
measure  at  the  other's  display  of  incredulous 
amazement.  '  'Ooever's  been  fool  enough  to 
want  to  go  and  live  in  that  benighted  'ole  ?  I  sez, 
which  is  'aunted  by  a  ghost,  let  alone  the  roof 
lets  in  water  by  the  gallon.' 

'  'Oo  told  you  ?  '  demanded  Euphemia  once 
more,  this  time  with  evident  suspicion. 

Caroline  thus  adjured  settled  down  to  a  recital 
of  her  tale  with  obvious  relish. 

'  I  went  into  Frippon  yesterday  by  the  carrier 
to  sell  a  few  eggs,  and,  my  business  being  done 
and  'aving  'alf  an  hour  to  spare,  I  thought  I'd 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  25 

jest  walk  along  to  Mercer's  and  'ave  a  look  in 
their  winder  in  case  I  might  get  an  'int  as  to  'ow 
to  do  up  my  winter  'at  for  Easter,  and  I  'adn't 
'ardly  turned  the  corner  into  Middle  Street  when 
'oo  should  I  see  but  Mr.  Bates  the  builder,  and 
the  minute  'e  notices  me  'e  gives  me  an  'ail. 
"Lucky  meeting  you  like  this,"  'e  says;  "I  was 
meaning  to  run  out  to  Diddlebury  on  my  bike 
one  o'  these  afternoons  and  find  out  if  your 
'usband  was  busy  jest  at  present."  "I  dessay  'e 
could  fit  in  any  little  job  you  'ad  for  'im,  Mr. 
Bates,"  I  sez,  (for  I  wasn't  going  to  let  on  that 
Brill  wasn't  doing  anything).  "Whereabouts 
might  it  be  ?  "  I  sez.  "Why,  where  but  in  your 
own  parish,  Mrs.  Brill,"  'e  sez;  "  'aven't  you 
'card  that  Starr  Cross  is  took  ?  "  Well,  I  was 
that  flabbergasted  that  I  never  answered  'im  a 
word,  but  stood  there  on  the  pathway  opening 
and  shutting  my  mouth  with  no  sound  coming 
out.' 

'  Not  a  minute  ago  you  told  me  you  said  you 
didn't  believe  it,'  interrupted  Euphemia  severely, 
who  was  beginning  to  recover  from  the  first 


26  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

shock  of  the  news,  and  to  realise  that  Caroline 
was  adopting  a  quite  unwarrantable  air  of  superi- 
ority which  required  rigorous  suppression  before 
it  grew  to  greater  dimensions. 

'  And  so  I  did  directly  I  could  find  the  words/ 
Caroline  said.  '  'Ooever  'as  been  fool  enough 
I  sez ' 

1  And  'oo  'as?'  cut  in  Euphemia. 

1  Ever  'eard  of  Tidd?'  asked  Caroline. 

Euphemia  thought  for  a  minute,  then  shook 
her  head. 

'  The  name  sounds  familiar  enough,  but  I 
can't  lay  'ands  on  where  I've  come  across  it/  she 
said.  "Go's  Tidd?' 

'  Why,  the  patient  medicine  man,  o'  course/ 
announced  Caroline  triumphantly. 

1  Not  the  Cure-All/  gasped  Euphemia. 

1  That's  the  very  one/  said  Caroline.  Though 
what  'e  wants  with  Starr  Cross  beats  me.' 

Euphemia  laughed  hysterically. 

'  'E's  going  to  build  a  pill  factory/  she  de- 
clared unhesitatingly.  'My  poor  Miss  Lavender 
'ull  be  driven  out  of  'ouse  and  'ome  by  a  lot  o' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  27 

nasty  belching  chimneys  covering  the  'ole  place 
with  smuts  and  dirt.' 

'  Like  'Agar,'  suggested  Caroline,  to  whom  the 
picture  forcibly  appealed. 

1  For  goodness'  sake  don't  be  more  foolish  than 
'eaven  made  you,'  snapped  Euphemia,  who  was 
in  no  mood  to  be  trifled  with.  'If  you  was  to  at- 
tend to  washing  the  floor  properly  instead  of 
gossiping  on  about  rubbish  we  shouldn't  'ave 
these  upsets.' 

'  Well,  there  now,'  said  the  aggrieved  Caroline, 
stung  by  the  injustice  of  the  charge  to  defend 
herself.  'You  can't  'old  me  responsible  for  what 
others  may  do,  and  a  nice  thing  if  Miss  Lavender 
'ad  'card  the  news  in  the  village  without  'aving 
'ad  due  warning.  It  would  'ave  given  'er  a  turn.' 

'  I'd  better  go  and  tell  'er  at  once,  before  the 
rumour  reaches  'er,'  Euphemia  said  flurriedly, 
almost  as  though  she  expected  the  report  to  make 
its  way  up  from  the  village  unaided  and  burst  in 
upon  her  mistress  in  the  dining-room,  unless 
steps  were  instantly  taken  to  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe. 


28  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Miss  Lavender  was  engaged  upon  the  uncon- 
genial task  of  adding  up  the  weekly  books  when 
Euphemia  interrupted  her. 

*  Whatever  is  the  matter,  Euphemia  ?  '  she 
inquired  in  some  trepidation,  noticing  the  other's 
set  expression. 

Euphemia  shook  a  gloomy  head. 

'  Matter  enough,'  she  replied  forebodingly. 
'Starr  Cross  is  took.' 

1  Starr  Cross  taken  !  '  exclaimed  Miss  Lav- 
ender, hardly  .believing  her  ears.  'Are  you  posi- 
tive, Euphemia  ?  ' 

1  Caroline  told  me  for  certain,  not  five  minutes 
since;  but  that  ain't  the  worst.' 

'  It  isn't — they  aren't  going  to  start  a  private 
asylum  there  ?  '  Miss  Lavender  asked,  clutching 
the  arms  of  her  chair  in  an  agony  of  despair. 

'  Worse,'  was  Euphemia's  terse  reply. 

'  Oh,  Euphemia,  whatever  could  be  worse ! 
For  mercy's  sake  tell  me  quickly  what  it  is/ 
besought  Miss  Lavender  in  trembling  tones. 

1  Well  then,  they're  going  to  make  pills  there,' 
Euphemia  said  with  due  solemnity. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  29 

Miss  Lavender  drew  herself  up  stiffly. 

'  Pills,'  she  echoed  incredulously.  'I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing.  I  shall  write  and  protest 
to  the  authorities.' 

'  What  authorities  ?  '  inquired  Euphemia. 

'  The — the  inspector  of  public  nuisances,'  an- 
swered Miss  Lavender  desperately. 


CHAPTER  III 

LUCKILY  for  Euphemia's  peace  of  mind,  it  was 
not  long  before  she  discovered  that  the  'pill- 
factory'  existed  only  in  her  own  fevered  imagina- 
tion, and  that  Mr.  Tidd,  the  proprietor  of  the 
famous  'Cure-All,'  who  already  possessed  exten- 
sive works  on  the  outskirts  of  London,  had  no 
intention  whatever  of  adding  to  his  responsibili- 
ties by  building  fresh  ones  in  a  remote  country 
district,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  bought  Starr 
Cross  as  a  place  to  retire  to  in  his  declining  years, 
leaving  the  business  in  the  hands  of  a  capable 
manager. 

'Though  what  maggot  'e  'ad  in  'is  brain  to 
induce  'im  to  go  and  buy  a  ramshackle  old  barn 
like  that,  when  there's  'ouses  and  to  spare  with 
doors  and  winders  to  'em,  not  to  mention  roofs 
to  cover  'em,  is  past  my  understanding.  You 
mark  my  words,  there's  something  be'ind  it  all,' 
quoth  Euphemia,  waxing  eloquent. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  31 

'  It's  a  very  nice  house,  at  least  it  used  to  be 
in  Mr.  Evershed's  time.  Why  shouldn't  he  want 
to  buy  it  ?  '  Miss  Lavender  said  a  little  sharply, 
resenting  the  implied  slight  on  it. 

'  Yes,  but  'e's  not  even  been  down  to  see  it, 
so  'ow  can  'e  tell  whether  it's  nice  or  no?  Folks 
don't  buy  pigs  in  pokes  without  some  good  rea- 
son, not  without  they're  born  fools.  There's 
something  be'ind  it  all,'  insisted  Euphemia,  who 
took  the  deepest  interest  in  everything  that  con- 
cerned Starr  Cross  and  its  new  occupants,  and 
who  seldom  returned  from  her  walks  abroad 
without  having  gleaned  some  items  of  informa- 
tion about  one  or  the  other  to  regale  her  mis- 
tress with. 

Miss  Lavender,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  quite 
as  eager  to  listen  as  Euphemia  was  to  relate, 
though  she  did  think  it  her  duty  occasionally  to 
feign  indifference,  and  the  sight  of  a  workman 
passing  the  cottage  with  a  pot  of  paint  was  suffi- 
cient to  send  her  flying  to  the  window,  unless  the 
old  servant  was  hi  the  room. 

These  same  workmen  were  a  source  of  much 


32  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

perturbation  to  Euphemia,  since  nearly  all  of 
them  were  strangers  to  the  place,  and  she  took 
the  precaution  of  purchasing  a  length  of  barbed 
wire  to  supplement  the  row  of  hollies  across  the 
door  leading  out  into  the  lane  down  which  they 
had  to  go  to  reach  their  work. 

'  They'll  leave  something  be'ind  to  identify 
'em  by  if  they  do  come,'  she  remarked,  surveying 
her  handiwork  with  satisfaction. 

'  Yes,  but  think  how  much  more  desperate 
they'll  be  if  they've  hurt  themselves  getting  in. 
Besides,  they  may  bleed  on  to  the  drawing-room 
carpet,'  objected  Miss  Lavender,  who  viewed 
these  preparations  for  the  reception  of  possible 
disturbers  of  the  peace  with  considerable  mis- 
giving. She  never  pretended  to  be  anything  but 
an  arrant  coward,  and  Euphemia  always  sternly 
refused  to  tell  her  where  she  hid  the  silver  each 
night,  so  that  ignorance  of  its  whereabouts  might 
be  quite  truthfully  pleaded  in  case  of  emergency. 

1  There's  only  'imself  and  one  son,'  Euphemia 
announced  one  morning  on  her  return  from  the 
village,  whither  she  had  been  ostensibly  to  buy 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  33 

butter.  (It  was  wonderful  in  these  days  how 
often  orders  were  forgotten  to  be  given  to  the 
boot-boy  when  he  left,  for  delivery  at  the  shop.) 
'The  son's  at  Oxford  College.' 

Miss  Lavender  did  not  need  to  ask  to  whom  ' 
she  referred. 

'  Did  you  hear  anything  about  Mrs.  Tidd  ?  ' 
she  inquired  with  interest,  the  feminine  portion 
of  the  family  being  that  likely  to  concern  her 
most. 

Euphemia  shook  her  head. 

'  It's  a  funny  thing,  but  not  once  'ave  I  'card 
'er  mentioned,  nor  'as  any  one  else.  There's  some 
reason  for  it,  you  may  be  sure.  I  'ope  it's  not 
'er  'oo's  be'ind  it  all.  I  can't  'elp  the  feeling  that 
it's  something  in  connection  with  'er  that  they've 
come  to  settle  in  such  a  far-off  spot.' 

I  What  nonsense,  Euphemia,'  said  Miss  Lav- 
ender quite  crossly.   'What  reason  could  there 
possibly  be  why  Mrs.  Tidd  should  want  to  live 
here  more  than  anywhere  else?  ' 

I 1  didn't  say  she  wanted  to,'  Euphemia  said 


34  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

darkly.  'It  may  be  the  rest  of  'er  family  'oo  want 
to  'ide  'er  from  view.' 

1  Whatever  do  you  mean  ?  '  asked  Miss 
Lavender. 

'  Well,  it's  not  for  me  to  say,  Miss,  but  drink, 
or  disease,  or  brain-mischief  'ud  any  of  'em  be 
reason  enough,  to  my  way  o'  thinking,  to  make 
'em  wishful  not  to  'ave  too  many  neighbours 
round.' 

That  the  good  lady  had,  for  the  last  twenty 
years  been  the  solitary  occupant  of  an  exces- 
sively hideous  and  correspondingly  expensive 
tomb  at  Kendal  Green  was  too  obvious  an  ex- 
planation to  be  entertained  by  either  of  them 
for  one  single  instant.  Their  imaginations,  jaded 
with  the  excitements  of  the  past  few  weeks,  re- 
fused any  such  simple  solution  of  the  silence 
which  reigned  supreme  as  far  as  Mrs.  Tidd  was 
concerned.  From  that  moment,  until  the  one  in 
which  the  commonplace  truth  was  forced  upon 
their  notice,  they  never  spoke  of  her  except  with 
bated  breath  as  one  above  whose  head  there 
hung  the  shadow  of  a  fear,  though  what  cast  the 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  35 

shadow  they  could  not  determine  to  their  satis- 
faction. Miss  Lavender,  because  her  greatest 
terror  was  mad  people,  was  perfectly  convinced 
that  the  unfortunate  lady  was  a  victim  to  peri- 
odical attacks  of  mania,  probably  homicidal, 
while  Euphemia  inclined  to  the  theory  that  drink 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  trouble.  Both  agreed 
that  bottle  glass  round  the  top  of  the  garden  wall 
was  desirable,  if  not  actually  necessary. 

The  day  after  the  workmen  were  out  of  Starr 
Cross,  which  was  not  until  well  on  in  May,  Miss 
Lavender  suddenly  announced  her  intention  of 
going  round  there  to  see  what  alterations  had 
been  made. 

'  You  can  come  too,  if  you  like,'  she  said  gra- 
ciously to  Euphemia. 

It  was  during  lunch  that  she  made  known  her 
decision,  and  Euphemia,  who  was  handing  the 
vegetables  at  the  moment,  nearly  dropped  the 
potatoes  in  her  surprise.  In  spite  of  its  close 
proximity  her  mistress  had  not  once  entered  the 
gates  of  Starr  Cross  since  it  had  been  left  empty 
more  than  twenty  years  ago. 


36  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

1  A  deserted  house  is  one  of  the  saddest  things 
on  earth,  especially  to  those  who  have  known  it 
under  different  circumstances.  Don't  ever  ask 
me  to  go  there,'  she  had  said  on  one  occasion 
when  Euphemia  had  suggested  that  she  might 
sometimes  use  the  garden  to  sit  out  in.  That 
was  before  the  ghost  had  put  in  an  appearance, 
or  the  suggestion  would  never  have  been  made ! 
Even  now,  though  the  sun  was  shining  brightly, 
Euphemia  looked  a  little  dubious  at  the  idea  of 
risking  an  encounter  with  it,  but  curiosity  at 
length  got  the  better  of  her  fears,  and  she  de- 
cided to  accept  the  invitation. 

*  We'll  start  early  so  as  not  to  be  too  late 
back,'  she  said.    'I'll  run  along  directly  I've 
swallowed  my  dinner,  and  fetch  the  key  from 
Caroline.' 

1  What  is  Caroline  doing  with  the  key  ?  '  asked 
Miss  Lavender. 

*  She's  to  do  the  cleaning  up  after  the  work- 
men,' explained  Euphemia.  'And  a  job  I  'ad  to 
persuade  'er  to  accept  the  offer.  Thinks   the 
ghost'll  eat  'er,  I  shouldn't  wonder.'  She  laughed 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  37 

the  easy  laugh  of  one  who  scoffs  at  danger,  de- 
liberately forgetting  her  hesitation  of  a  few  mo- 
ments since. 

'  Poor  Caroline/  said  Miss  Lavender,  with  a 
guilty  remembrance  of  those  occasions  when  she 
herself  had  hurried  past  the  staircase  window 
with  averted  head,  on  her  way  to  bed,  for  fear 
of  what  she  might  see  if  she  looked  out  across 
the  moonlit  meadows  in  the  direction  of  the  un- 
kempt shrubbery  with  its  deep  mysterious 
shadows  and  tangled  undergrowth. 

'  I  shall  start  at  three,  then,'  said  Miss  Lav- 
ender as  she  got  up  from  the  table  at  the  end  of 
the  meal. 

'  I'll  be  ready,'  Euphemia  responded. 

It  was  with  strangely  mixed  feelings  that  Miss 
Lavender  found  herself  opening  the  gate  through 
which  she  had  passed  so  many  times  in  bygone 
days.  Everything  looked  so  exactly  the  same  as 
it  had  been,  that  it  left  her  with  an  odd  sensation 
of  having  dreamed  the  intervening  years,  and  she 
had  to  glance  surreptitiously  at  Euphemia,  who 
walked  at  her  side,  to  convince  herself  that  she 


38  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

really  was  an  elderly  woman,  and  not  the  girl  who 
had  spent  so  many  happy  hours  in  that  very 
garden. 

'  Twenty  years  is  a  long  time,  for  all  it  goes 
so  quick,'  Euphemia  suddenly  said,  as  though 
answering  the  unspoken  thought  which  had 
flashed  through  her  mind. 

'  It's  twice  twenty-five  years  since  I  used  to 
play  here  as  a  child,'  said  Miss  Lavender  a  little 
wistfully.  'I  wonder  what  has  become  of  all  the 
others?  I've  quite  lost  sight  of  them  all,  even 
Mary  Evershed  who  used  to  be  such  a  friend  of 


mine.' 


'  What  a  one  she  was  for  tricks  and  mischief,' 
Euphemia  said  pensively.  *  Always  wishing  she'd 
been  born  a  boy!  She  was  for  ever  leading  you 
into  all  kinds  of  trouble.' 

Miss  Lavender  shook  an  almost  regretful  head. 

*  I  was  generally  much  too  frightened  to  do 
the  things  she  used  to,'  she  said.  'Do  you  re- 
member how  angry  Mrs.  Evershed  was  with  her 
for  climbing  that  oak  tree  in  the  upper 
meadow  ?  ' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  39 

'  And  'ow  she  used  to  run  races  with  those 
young  fellows  Mr.  Evershed  'ad  down  from 
London  for  an  'oliday  one  summer,'  continued 
Euphemia,  taking  up  the  tale.  '  It  was  'er  Pa 
put  'is  foot  down  there,  and  quite  rightly  too,  in 
my  opinion,  for  when  all's  said  and  done  they 
were  only  what  you  might  call  common  young 
men,  shop  assistants  and  the  like,  respectful  and 
well  be'aved  though  they  may  'ave  been,  and  it 
wasn't  'ardly  suitable  for  a  young  lady  to  de- 
mean 'erself  to  'em.  I  always  wondered  at  Mr. 
Evershed  asking  'em  down,  I  must  say,  but  'e 
was  a  kind  gentleman  and  looked  to  make  others 
'appy  when  'e  'ad  the  chance.  But  for  'im,  I 
daresay,  those  lads  wouldn't  ever  'ave  got  a 
breath  of  good  country  air  inside  their  lungs,  for 
that  was  before  the  days  when  everybody  'as 
their  fortnight  at  the  seaside,  be  they  what  they 
may.  The  grand  gentlemen  'oo  serve  be'ind  the 
counter  nowadays  'ud  be  insulted  at  being  put 
to  sleep  in  a  loft  over  the  stables,  like  they  was, 
but  they  seemed  'appy  enough,  and  grateful  into 
the  bargain.  I  lay  there's  many  of  them  'as  pleas- 


40  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

ant  recollections  of  this  place,  if  only  one  knew 
what  'ad  become  of  'em.' 

1  On  fevered  beds  where  sick  men  toss/  quoted 
Miss  Lavender,  so  softly  that  the  words  were 
barely  audible. 

'  Eh  ?  '  said  Euphemia,  who  had  not  caught 
them. 

Miss  Lavender  roused  herself  with  a  little 
start. 

'  Perhaps  some  of  them  died  abroad,  far  away 
from  those  they  loved,  of  fever  or  some  other 
dreadful  disease.  If  so,  I  should  think  that  must 
have  been  the  sort  of  time  when  one's  memory 
would  turn  back  with  an  almost  desperate  long- 
ing to  this  peaceful  garden,  with  its  cool  shade 
and  quiet,'  she  said,  getting  rather  pink,  as  she 
realised  that  sentiments  were  being  forced  out 
of  her  lips  which  usually  she  would  have  kept 
locked  up  in  her  breast. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  yards  until 
a  bend  in  the  drive  brought  them  in  view  of  the 
house,  and  at  sight  of  it  Miss  Lavender  stopped 
short. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  41 

'  It's  very  extraordinary/  she  said. 

'  What  is  ?  '  asked  Euphemia,  stopping  per- 
force also. 

1  It's  precisely  the  same  as  it  was  in  the  Ever- 
sheds'  time,'  said  Miss  Lavender,  resuming  her 
progress,  but  continuing  to  stare  at  the  house  in 
front  of  them  with  an  air  of  bewilderment. 

'  Why  shouldn't  it  be  the  same  ?  '  demanded 
Euphemia  in  matter-of-fact  tones. 

1  Well,  you'd  have  thought  there  would  have 
been  some  alteration,  •  some  improvement,  but 
nothing  is  altered  in  the  very  least.  Even  the 
paint  is  the  same  ugly  buff  colour  it  used  to  be, 
and  they've  got  the  same  four  lozenge-shaped 
beds  on  the  lawn  opposite  the  front  door.  It 
almost  looks  as  if ' 

1  As  if  what  ?  '  asked  Euphemia,  as  Miss 
Lavender  paused. 

'As  if  it  was  done  on  purpose.  As  if  they 
wanted  it  to  look  the  same.' 

1  Whatever  should  they  want  that  for  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,  unless  —  unless  it  has  been 
done  by  somebody  who  knew  and  loved  it  in  old 


42  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

days.  Euphemia,  who  is  Mr.  Tidd  ?  '  said  Miss 
Lavender  solemnly. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  sound  of  a 
motor  horn  fell  upon  their  startled  ears,  and  the 
next  second,  to  their  dismay,  they  distinctly 
heard  a  car  come  down  the  lane  and  pull  up  at 
the  very  gate  through  which  they  had  so  lately 
passed. 

'  I  don't  know  'oo  'e  is,  but  'ere  'e  is,'  said 
Euphemia  hysterically. 

Miss  Lavender  threw  a  haunted  glance  around. 
Not  three  feet  off,  on  the  grass  at  the  edge  of 
the  drive,  was  a  thick  laurel  bush.  Without  a 
word  she  seized  the  astonished  Euphemia  by  the 
wrist  and,  dragging  her  violently  behind,  scurried 
under  cover  in  the  very  nick  of  time  to  balk  dis- 
covery, for,  even  as  they  cowered  down  on  the 
ground,  the  car  swept  round  the  bend  which  had 
mercifully  hidden  them  from  view,  and  gliding 
up  to  the  front  door,  deposited  its  solitary  pas- 
senger on  the  steps,  a  short,  rather  rotund  gentle- 
man in  a  heavy  overcoat,  and  wearing  a  thick 
woolen  muffler  pulled  high  up  to  protect  his 
throat  and  mouth. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  43 

1  That  'e  should  'ave  chosen  this  day  to  come, 
of  all  others,'  said  Euphemia  palpitatingly  when 
they  found  themselves  once  more  safely  outside 
the  gate,  at  which  they  had  arrived  by  a  devious 
route,  skulking  behind  bushes,  and  pushing  their 
way  through  undergrowth,  with  an  utter  disre- 
gard of  either  convenience  or  dignity. 

£  It's  a  mercy  we  weren't  actually  in  the  house,' 
gasped  Miss  Lavender,  trying  to  arrange  her  dis- 
ordered garments  with  shaking  fingers. 

Euphemia  gave  a  little  shriek  of  dismay  at 
the  words. 

'  Whatever  is  it,  Euphemia  ?  '  demanded  Miss 
Lavender  irritably. 

'  We've  got  the  front  door  key,'  was  the  reply 
in  sepulchral  tones. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  took  Miss  Lavender  some  little  time  to 
recover  from  her  hasty  and  undignified  exodus 
from  Starr  Cross,  though  she  was  slightly  con- 
soled by  the  discovery  that,  after  all,  the  key 
which  had  been  borrowed  from  Caroline  was 
that  of  the  back  door,  and  not  the  front,  so  that 
she  was  no  longer  haunted  by  visions  of  Mr. 
Tidd  wandering  round  his  own  house,  unable  to 
effect  an  entrance,  since,  it  appeared,  he  had 
motored  down  from  town,  calling  at  the  agent's 
in  Little  Frippon  on  the  way  for  the  front  door 
key,  which  was  in  that  gentleman's  possession. 

He  had  not  even  penetrated  into  the  village 
en  route,  so  that  nobody  could  give  a  satisfactory 
account  of  what  he  looked  like,  and  Miss 
Lavender  and  Euphemia  had  been  much  too 
agitated  to  pay  attention  to  anything  but  escap- 
ing without  being  seen,  consequently  they  would 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  45 

have  been  unable,  apart  from  their  disinclina- 
tion to  mention  that  rather  disastrous  episode, 
to  give  any  description  of  him  to  the  various 
people  who  expressed  curiosity  on  the  point. 

The  Tidds  took  up  their  abode  in  the  middle 
of  June,  after  a  week  of  delirious  excitement  for 
Diddlebury,  the  entire  population  of  which 
turned  out  en  masse  on  the  arrival  of  each  fresh 
vanload  of  furniture,  as  many  as  could  spare  the 
time  accompanying  it  as  far  as  the  gate  of  Starr 
Cross,  to  watch  it  with  eager  eyes  lumbering  up 
the  drive,  some  even  lingering,  after  it  had 
turned  the  bend  and  was  lost  to  view,  to  listen 
to  the  scrunch  of  the  heavy  wheels  on  the  gravel, 
though  what  pleasure  was  to  be  derived  from 
that  it  would  be  hard  to  explain. 

The  servants  were  brought  over  from  Frippon, 
in  a  couple  of  hired  motors,  a  day  in  advance  of 
their  master;  there  were  six  of  them  altogether, 
four  women  and  two  men,  the  latter  causing 
quite  a  mild  flutter,  for  it  was  forty-five  years 
since  there  had  been  anything  of  the  sort  in 
Diddlebury,  and  then  it  had  only  been  a  male 


46  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

attendant  for  the  rector-of-the-time's  brother 
who  was  slightly  deficient.  It  was  generally  felt 
that  their  presence  would  revolutionise  Diddle- 
bury  society,  and  Miss  Perkins,  the  butcher's 
daughter,  went  so  far  as  to  order  a  new  blouse 
from  the  Little  Frippon  Emporium,  with  an  eye 
to  the  subjugation  of  the  butler,  who,  as  it  after- 
wards turned  out  when  too  late  to  countermand 
it,  was  a  married  man  with  four  children,  whose 
wife  and  family  were  to  join  him  as  soon  as  the 
lodge  was  ready  for  occupation. 

If  the  domestics  were  not  the  rose  they  were 
at  any  rate  near  it,  and  their  advent  created 
quite  a  furore  on  a  small  scale. 

Euphemia,  who  watched  their  almost  royal 
progress  from  behind  the  dining-room  curtains, 
took  in  every  detail  of  their  appearances  at  a 
glance  which  embraced  everything,  from  the 
bracelet  which  the  upper  housemaid  wore  '  above 
her  station'  to  the  emaciation  of  the  footman 
who  '  wanted  looking  after  careful,  else  he'd 
go  off  in  a  gallop,'  and  duly  reported  to  her 
mistress,  whose  pride  forbade  her  to  spy  upon 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  47 

the  new-comers,  although  it  required  all  her 
strength  of  will-power  to  resist. 

To  the  intense  disappointment  of  the  whole 
village,  the  Tidds  arrived  late  at  night,  when 
most  people  had  gone  to  bed,  so  that  it  was  just 
as  well  that  Mrs.  Bowers'  suggestion  of  a  tri- 
umphal arch,  with  '  Diddlebury  greets  you ' 
written  across  it  in  red  flannel  letters  on  a  white 
calico  ground,  had  come  to  nothing. 

'Let  'er  speak  for  'erself,'  Euphemia  had  said, 
with  considerable  indignation,  on  first  hearing 
of  the  proposition.  'We'd  better  find  out  what 
'e's  like  before  we're  so  ready  to  welcome  'im.' 

The  Sunday  following  their  arrival  there  was 
a  record  congregation  at  church  in  the  morning, 
but  the  only  person  to  put  in  an  appearance  from 
Starr  Cross  was  the  kitchenmaid,  who  could 
hardly  be  said  to  be  representative  of  the  family 

Euphemia  considered  this,  coupled  with  the 
late  hour  of  their  original  arrival,  to  be  fresh 
proof  of  her  theory  that  Mrs.  Tidd  was  labouring 
under  some  disability  of  body  or  mind,  and  was 
inclined  to  assume  an  aggressive  air  of  'I  told 


48  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

you  so '  which  was  only  effectually  quenched  by 
the  direct  testimony  of  the  cook  (who  had  been 
in  Mr.  Tidd's  service  at  the  time),  regarding  the 
lady's  decease  of  long  standing,  as  supplied  to 
Mrs.  Critchett  at  the  '  Stores.' 

'  It  makes  it  very  awkward  about  calling.' 
Miss  Lavender  said  anxiously,  on  learning  of  the 
absence  of  any  lady  at  the  head  of  the  establish- 
ment. *  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  anything  which 
might  turn  out  to  be  incorrect,  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  I  should  be  sorry  to  appear  un- 
friendly, especially  as  they  are  such  close  neigh- 
bours. I've  really  almost  a  mind  to  consult  the 
rector.  He's  a  clergyman,  you  see,  so  he's  used 
to  being  shocked,  and  I  could  rely  on  his  discre- 
tion not  to  let  it  go  further  that  I  was  ignorant 
of  the  proper  course  to  pursue.' 

*  There's  that  book  all  about  'ow  to  be'ave 
when  you  ain't  sure,'  Euphemia  suggested  with 
a  sudden  inspiration.  '  You  might  find  some- 
thing in  that.  It's  in  the  spare  room  shelves. 
I'll  fetch  it.' 

She  departed  on  her  errand,  and  presently  re- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  49 

appeared  with  a  dingy  brown  volume  which  she 
handed  to  her  mistress. 

'  There  you  are,'  she  said. 

'Wherever  did  it  come  from?'  remarked  Miss 
Lavender,  surveying  the  book  with  disfavour.  '  I 
don't  ever  remember  seeing  it  before.' 

'You  got  it  at  old  Mr.  Crowe's  sale,  along  with 
a  cookery  book  and  one  or  two  more,'  said 
Euphemia. 

Miss  Lavender  consulted  the  chapter  headings 
in  the  index  doubtfully.  '  Etiquette  in  calling, 
page  290,'  she  read  out;  then,  turning  to  the 
place  indicated, '  "A  lady  never  calls  on  a  gentle- 
man unless  professionally  or  officially.  It  is  not 
only  ill-bred,  but  positively  improper  to  do  so." 
That  settles  it,'  she  said,  closing  the  book,  and 
feeling  quite  hot  and  uncomfortable  at  the  idea 
of  having  contemplated,  even  for  a  second,  an 
act  of  such  glaring  impropriety.  'Perhaps  after 
all  it's  just  as  well.  I  don't  know  that  I  could 
ever  have  felt  quite  at  ease  in  the  house  of  a 
man  who  mixes  medicines.' 

'  But  Dr.  Cruickshank  does  'is  own  dispensing, 


50  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

and  you  call  on  Mrs.  Cruickshank,'  objected 
Euphemia. 

1  Yes,  but  somehow  a  patent  medicine  seems 
worse  than  other  kinds.  I  don't  know  I'm  sure 
why  it  should  be  so,  but  it  is.  Dr.  Cruickshank, 
you  see,  makes  up  a  medicine  to  suit  a  particular 
case,  while,  with  a  patent  medicine,  the  cases 
seem  to  suit  themselves  to  it.  It's  the  same 
sort  of  difference  as  between  having  tea  with  a 
friend  and  having  it  in  a  tea-shop.  I  can't 
explain,  but  I  know  what  I  mean,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  flounderingly. 

'  It's  a  good  thing  somebody  does,  for  I  don't,' 
said  Euphemia  severely. 

For  some  mysterious  reason  she  seemed  a  trifle 
annoyed  at  Miss  Lavender's  decision  not  to  call, 
and  presently  it  came  out. 

'  Young  Mr.  Tidd  rode  by  'ere  on  'orseback 
while  I  was  doing  the  front  this  morning  before 
breakfast.  A  nicer  looking  young  gentleman  you 
couldn't  wish  for  to  see,  and  pleasant  spoken 
too,'  she  remarked. 

In  an  instant  Miss  Lavender  was  all  agog. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  51 

'  Euphemia!  You  never  told  me,'  she  said 
reproachfully.  'Do  you  actually  mean  to  tell 
me  you  spoke  to  him? ' 

1  We  didn't  'ave  many  words,'  Euphemia  re- 
plied, a  note  of  regret  in  her  voice.  'I  daresay 
I  looked  at  'im  a  bit  'ard,  as  you  might  say,  for 
as  'e  drew  up  alongside  'e  smiled  quite  friendly, 
and  touched  'is  cap  with  the  'andle  of  'is  whip, 
and  "The  early  birds  'as  the  best  of  it  these 
beautiful  mornings,"  'e  says,  just  as  if  'e'd  known 
me  all  'is  life,  and  I  couldn't  but  'elp  smile  back 
for  very  joy  of  'im,  'e  looked  so  'appy.' 

She  paused  and  gave  a  little  sigh. 

'  It  must  be  wonderful  to  'ave  a  son  you  can 
be  proud  of  like  'im,'  she  added  reflectively. 

'  But  I  don't  see  what  all  this  has  got  to  do 
with  whether  I  call  upon  Mr.  Tidd  or  not,'  said 
Miss  Lavender  in  some  bewilderment. 

'  No,  I  suppose  it  ain't,  only  I  did  'ope  we 
should  see  'im  'ere  now  and  then — the  young  one 
I  mean,'  said  Euphemia.  'Of  course  though, 
one  wouldn't  wish  to  make  folks  talk,  and  if 
the  gentleman  in  the  book  says  it  ain't  the 


52  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

thing,  we  must  just  abide  by  'is  decision,  that's 
all.' 

'  We've  got  on  very  nicely  for  the  last  thirty 
years  and  more  without  young  men  coming  to 
the  .house.  I  fail  to  understand  why  you  should 
have  this  sudden  desire  to  see  one  here,'  Miss 
Lavender  observed,  with  a  touch  of  asperity  in 
her  voice. 

'  We've  put  up  with  it,'  retorted  Euphemia. 
'What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured.' 

Miss  Lavender  drew  herself  up  stiffly. 

'Really,  Euphemia!'  she  protested. 

'  Oh,  what's  the  good  of  pretending,'  Eu- 
phemia said,  growing  reckless  under  reproof. 
'There  ain't  a  woman  worth  the  name  'oo  'asn't 
got  the  longing  to  mother  something,  and  if  she 
ain't  got  children  to  spend  it  on  she  just  casts 
about  to  find  something,  instead,  a  cat,  maybe, 
or  a  parrot,  or  one  o'  them  nasty,  fat,  wheezing 
pug-dogs,  if  she  ain't  lucky  enough  to  'ave  any 
men-folk,  which  is  best  of  all,  for  when  you  come 
to  think,  what  are  men  but  grown  children? 
Look  'ow  'elpless  they  are  without  a  woman  to 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  53 

see  after  'em  and  sew  on  their  buttons,  and 
cosset  'em  when  they're  sick,  and  kiss  'em  when 
they  fall  down  and  bruise  their  poor  little  knees 
on  the  'ard  road.' 

She  paused  and  laughed  a  little  constrainedly 
before  she  went  on: 

'  I  may  'ave  missed  marrying  and  'aving  real 
flesh  and  blood  children,  but  the  children  I've 
'ad  in  make-believe!  Many's  the  time  when 
I've  been  alone  in  the  kitchen  doing  my  work 
that  I've  'ad  'em  in  my  mind,  until  I  almost 
seemed  to  see  'em  round  me.' 

Once  more  she  paused,  a  far-away  look  in  her 
dim  eyes,  and  a  tender  smile  hovering  at  the 
corner  of  her  lips,  as  though,  even  now,  she  saw 
before  her  the  forms  her  imagination  had  con- 
jured up. 

1  It  sounds  silly,  I  know,'  she  continued  in  a 
little  while,  'but  when  that  lad  smiled  at  me  so 
friendly  this  morning,  it  seemed,  all  of  a  sudden, 
as  if  'e  might  be  one  o'  my  dream  children  grown 
up  and  come  to  life,  and  I  felt  so  proud  of  'im.' 

She  stopped,  and  swallowed  down  some  emo- 


54  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

tion  in  her  throat  which  had  risen  up  and  threat- 
ened to  break  bounds.  Miss  Lavender  laid  her 
hand  gently  on  the  old  servant's  arm. 

'  I  know,'  she  said  softly.  'We're  just  two 
lonely  old  women,  when  all's  said  and  done.' 

'  But  we've  got  one  another,'  Euphemia  said 
with  desperate  eagerness.  'You  mustn't  go 
thinking  I'd  'ave  things  different.  You  mustn't 
think  that,  my  dear.'  Miss  Lavender  patted  her 
arm  reassuringly. 

*  No,  no,  I  don't  think  that,'  she  said  consol- 
ingly. 'We've  jogged  along  together  for  too 
many  years  to  be  able  to  spare  one  another 
easily,  even  if  a  miracle  should  happen.' 

She  debated  for  an  instant,  then,  as  if  she  had 
come  to  a  definite  conclusion,  picked  up  the  eti- 
quette book  which  lay  at  her  elbow,  and  trotting 
across  the  room  dropped  it  into  the  wastepaper 
basket. 

'  The  man  who  wrote  that  book  is  a  mere 
mole,  living  in  a  conventional  burrow.  Eu- 
phemia,' she  said  resolutely,  'I  shall  call  at  Starr 
Cross  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  V 

Miss  LAVENDER  was  not  destined  to  carry  her 
bold  design  into  execution.  That  very  afternoon, 
as  she  sat  quietly  in  the  drawing-room  knitting, 
the  front  door  bell  rang,  causing  her  to  stuff  her 
work  hastily  into  the  bag  which  hung  down  at 
the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  to  hurry  to  the  glass 
over  the  mantelpiece  in  order  to  give  a  few 
ineffectual  dabs  to  her  hair,  to  settle  the  black 
velvet  bow  which  concealed  its  shortcomings 
more  firmly  on  her  head. 

She  was  still  at  the  fireplace  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Euphemia,  red  in  the  face  with 
suppressed  excitement,  ushered  in  what,  at 
first  sight,  looked  like  a  crowd  of  men,  led  by 
Mrs.  Bowers,  the  rectoress,  a  modern  Joan  of 
Arc,  though  she  waved  a  reticule  instead  of  a 
sword. 

The  crowd  of  men  presently  resolved  itself 
into  three,  the  rector  and  —  sufficient  reason 


56  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

for  Euphemia's  hardly-contained  emotions — the 
new  tenant  of  Starr  Cross  and  his  son. 

Miss  Lavender  stood  there  staring  stupidly, 
while  Euphemia  announced  the  visitors  in  a 
voice  which,  despite  her  endeavours,  shook  a 
little,  and  only  recovered  the  use  of  her  faculties 
when  Mrs.  Bowers  ran  at  her  with  a  purr  of 
delighted  surprise,  as  if  the  mistress  of  the  house 
were  the  very  last  person  she  had  expected  to  see. 

'  How  too  delicious,  you  dear  thing,'  she  ex- 
claimed effusively,  clasping  Miss  Lavender  in  a 
warm  embrace.  Tve  been  meaning  to  come  and 
see  you  for  days,  but  somehow  something  always 
turned  up  to  prevent  it  —  well,  you  know  how 
busy  I  am.  I'm  sure,  as  I  often  say  to  the 
RECTOR,  I  get  no  time  for  my  own  affairs,  and  I 
could  do  with  twenty-six  hours  in  the  day.' 
Mrs.  Bowers  always  spoke  of  her  husband  in 
capital  letters  outside  the  rectory,  although  in 
private  life  she  treated  him  as  if  he  were  nothing 
more  important  than  a  footnote  to  the  story  of 
her  own  life. 

'  Could  you  really,'  said  Miss  Lavender,  feel- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  57 

ing  the  futility  of  the  remark  but  unable  to  think 
of  another. 

1  But  now  that  I  have  found  a  minute  in  which 
to  pop  in  upon  you,  I  have  not  come  alone,'  went 
on  Mrs.  Bowers;  'I've  brought  a  new  neighbour 
but  an  old  friend  to  visit  you.' 

1  An  old  friend  ?  '  queried  Miss  Lavender, 
gazing  helplessly  at  the  rector  to  see  if  he  could 
enlighten  her,  but  as  he  only  nodded  back  and 
smiled  vacantly,  she  turned  once  more  to  his 
wife  for  information. 

1  An  old  friend  ?  '  she  repeated  again. 

*  Mr.  Tidd,'  said  the  rectoress  quite  sharply. 
And  at  the  words  Miss  Lavender's  heart  stood 
still  while  you  could  count  three,  as  she  after- 
wards told  Euphemia,  for  she  had  no  doubt  in 
her  own  mind  that  they  had  been  seen  that  after- 
noon when  they  had  cowered  behind  the  laurel 
bush  in  the  Starr  Cross  drive,  and  that  Mrs. 
Bowers  was  being  funny  at  her  expense.  At  this 
last  thought,  pride  came  to  her  rescue. 

'  I  saw  Mr.  Tidd  pass  in  his  motor  when  he 
paid  a  visit  to  Starr  Cross  one  day  last  month, 


58  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

but  otherwise  I  don't  think  I  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  him,'  she  said,  with  a  little 
bow  in  his  direction.  'Won't  you  sit  down?  ' 
1  Oh,  much  longer  ago  than  that,'  said  Mrs, 
Bowers  impatiently.  '  You  were  boy  and  girl 
together,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Mr.  Tidd 
was  telling  me  all  about  it  at  lunch,  only  I 
couldn't  understand,  except  that  I  know  he  was 
most  anxious  for  me  to  bring  him  to  call,  and 
now  you  deny  having  ever  seen  him  before,  and 
I'd  made  up  quite  a  romance,  and  now  you're 
going  to  spoil  it.  It's  too  bad.  I  insist  on  your 
having  a  good  look  at  him  before  you  knock 
down  my  castle.'  With  which  she  stepped  aside 
and,  brushing  the  rector  out  of  the  line  of  vision, 
left  an  embarrassed  elderly  gentleman  face  to 
face  with  a  still  more  embarrassed  elderly  lady, 
each  struck  dumb  with  exactly  the  same  agony 
of  shyness  which  seizes  upon  two  miserable 
children  who  have  been  commanded  by  their 
parents  or  nurses  to  'kiss  and  make  friends,' 
while  conscious  that  all  the  time  they  are  being 
watched. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  59 

Mr.  Tidd  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 

' It's  so  long  ago,'  he  said.  'So  many  years 
ago.  I  was  only  a  lad  at  the  time.' 

'  I  suppose  —  it's  very  rude  of  me  to  have 
forgotten,  but  I'm  afraid  I  must  confess  to  it,' 
Miss  Lavender  said  apologetically.  'I'm  —  I'm 
so  stupid  about  remembering  people,  though  of 
course  we  don't  have  so  very  many  strangers  in 
Diddlebury  that  that  is  an  adequate  excuse. 
Perhaps  you  used  to  stay  with  Mr.  Crowe.  I 
know  he  sometimes  had  visitors.'  She  was  so 
obviously  distressed  at  her  failure  to  recognise 
Mr.  Tidd  that  he  hastened  to  reassure  her. 

'  Now  you  mustn't  think  anything  more  about 
it,'  he  said  soothingly.  'It  isn't  to  be  expected 
you  would  'remember  me.  I  was  only  one  of  a 
crowd,  and  you  probably  never  even  noticed  me.' 
He  stopped,  and  his  lips  twitched.  'Though  we 
did  rob  an  apple  orchard  together.' 

Instantly  into  Miss  Lavender's  brain  flashed 
the  picture  of  a  hitherto  well-nigh  forgotten 
episode  of  her  youth.  She  saw  herself,  an  incon- 
gruous figure  in  a  short  skirt  of  tartan,  beneath 


60  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

which  peeped  out  the  white  frills  of  certain 
nether  garments  in  accordance  with  the  ridicu- 
lous custom  of  those  otherwise  modest  days, 
wringing  her  hands  at  the  foot  of  an  apple  tree  in 
Farmer  Child's  orchard,  the  tears  coursing  down 
her  craven  cheeks  as  she  implored  her  two  com- 
panions, a  boy  and  a  girl,  to  leave  their  forbidden 
fruit  and  escape  before  the  farmer,  whom  she 
espied  in  the  next  field,  discovered  them  and 
inflicted  summary  justice.  She  saw  the  two 
faces,  the  boy's  compassionate,  the  girl's  con- 
temptuous, peering  down  through  the  branches, 
and  she  heard  the  girl's  voice  saying  'Little 
coward'  in  tones  of  scorn,  but  she  also  remem- 
bered, even  now  with  a  thrill  of  gratitude,  how 
the  boy  had  slid  to  the  ground,  and  asking  her 
not  to  cry  had  handed  her  a  rather  dirty  hand- 
kerchief with  which  to  dry  her  eyes,  after  which 
they  had  run  side  by  side  to  the  safer  ground  of 
the  Starr  Cross  shrubbery,  pursued  by  the  deris- 
ive laughter  of  the  girl  left  alone  among  the 
apple  boughs.  The  girl  had  been  Mary  Ever- 
shed,  and  the  boy  one  of  those  whom  Mr.  Ever- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  61 

shed  had  brought  down  from  the  London  raff  to 
spend  a  few  weeks  in  the  country,  away  from 
the  toil  and  turmoil  of  the  city,  that  summer  so 
many  years  ago. 

Was  it  possible  that  this  dapper  little  gentle- 
man with  the  well-cut  clothes  and  the  gray  side- 
whiskers  was  the  same  person  as  her  champion 
of  those  youthful  days?  She  remembered  that  he 
had  been  rather  a  grubby  boy,  and  that  he  had 
been  called  'Jimmy'  by  the  others,  but  as  for 
any  other  name,  he  might  have  had  none  for  all 
she  had  known  to  the  contrary.  If  it  was  so, 
it  was  true  what  Euphemia  had  said  about  some 
of  those  lads  keeping  green  the  memory  of  those 
halcyon  days,  for  here  was  an  example  in  front 
of  her  very  eyes.  Here  was  one  to  whom  they 
had  been  so  precious  that,  when  fortune  smiled 
upon  him,  he  had  turned  gratefully  back  to  the 
spot  around  which  clustered  such  happy  memo- 
ries, rescuing  it  from  oblivion  in  order  that  he 
might  pass  the  remainder  of  his  life  among  the 
scenes  where  he  had  first  learned  that  the  world 
is  not  entirely  composed  of  mean  streets  and 


62  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

crowded  thoroughfares,  but  has  better  gifts  to 
offer  her  sons  in  the  shape  of  flowers  and  trees, 
and  birds  and  green  fields,  and  pure  air  and  sun- 
shine, though  it  is  only  the  fortunate  few  to 
whom  the  chance  of  profiting  by  these  gifts  is 
given. 

1  Is  it  really  you  ?  '  Miss  Lavender  managed  to 
gasp  out,  as  the  truth  forced  itself  upon  her. 

'Yes.  It's  I,'  he  responded  gravely;  then 
added  with  a  whimsical  smile,  'A  lot  of  water 
has  run  under  the  bridges  since  then,  eh?  I  was 
nothing  but  a  young  urchin  in  those  days,  and 
now  I've  got  a  young  urchin  of  my  own.' 

He  turned,  as  he  spoke,  with  a  gesture  of  un- 
mistakable pride  to  his  son,  who  stood  just 
behind  him. 

'  My  boy,  Ma'am,'  he  said. 

Miss  Lavender  came  forward  and  shook 
hands,  regarding  him  with  frank  curiosity. 

*  We're  quiet  people  here.  You'll  find  it  dull 
among  us,'  she  said. 

He  laughed  back,  a  boyish,  unaffected  laugh, 
and  at  the  sound  of  it  Miss  Lavender  began 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  63 

dimly  to  understand  and  sympathise  with  Eu- 
phemia's  mood  of  the  morning.  It  was  nice  to 
feel  young  life  about  one. 

'  It  depends  upon  oneself  whether  one's  dull  or 
not,  not  on  other  people,'  he  said  cheerfully. 
'Besides,  I've  heard  so  much  about  Diddlebury 
from  my  earliest  infancy  that  it  only  seems  like 
coming  home  to  come  here.' 

1  Now  if  that  isn't  a  neatly  turned  compli- 
ment,' put  in  Mrs.  Bowers,  who  considered  that 
she  and  the  rector  were  being  left  rather  out  in 
the  cold.  'Your  father  must  have  specially  pleas- 
ant recollections  of  the  little  place  to  have 
remained  faithful  to  its  memory  for  such  a  long, 
long  time.' 

'And  so  I  have,'  said  Mr.  Tidd  senior  sturdily. 
'When  I  came  here  as  a  lad,  never  mind  how 
long  ago,  I  was  just  earning  a  few  shillings  a 
week  by  running  errands  and  cleaning  out  the 
shop  for  a  chemist  in  one  of  the  poorer  parts  of 
London.  That  was  before  the  days  of  these 
fresh-air  funds  and  so  forth,  when  poor  people 
had  to  be  content  with  what  they  had  in  the  way 


64  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

of  surroundings.  It'll  sound  strange  to  you 
maybe,  but  I  was  nearly  seventeen  when  I  came 
down  here,  and  until  then  I'd  never  set  eyes  on 
the  country.  It  was  like  a  foretaste  of  heaven 
to  a  miserable  little  guttersnipe  like  me,  and 
many  was  the  night  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  after 
I  got  back  to  my  corner  of  a  crowded  bedroom  in 
Poplar,  longing  for  another  sight  of  this  place. 
But  it  did  one  thing  for  me  which  nothing  else 
could  have  done.  It  made  me  determined  to  get 
on  in  the  world,  so  that  some  day  I  could  come 
back.  I  set  to  work  to  educate  myself.  I  went 
to  night  schools ;  I  studied  chemistry ;  I  pestered 
my  master  with  questions  about  drugs  and  their 
uses,  until  at  last  he  began  to  take  an  interest  in 
me,  and  I  discovered  I  was  worth  something 
better  than  to  sweep  floors  and  wash  bottles.  He 
used  to  let  me  watch  him  mixing  medicines.  With 
his  help  I  qualified  as  a  chemist,  worked  my  way 
up  to  being  his  partner,  invented  my  "Cure- 
All"  as  I  call  it,  and — and  here  I  am,'  he  con- 
cluded lamely,  suddenly  becoming  aware  that  he 
had  let  his  tongue  run  away  with  him. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  65 

'  So  nice,'  murmured  the  rector,  feeling  that 
he  ought  to  contribute  his  share  towards  the 
conversation,  but  a  trifle  vague  as  to  what  it  was 
all  about. 

1  Quite  like  Dick  Whittington,'  remarked  Mrs. 
Bowers,  who  always  sought  for  analogies  in  the 
events  of  everyday  life. 

'  Only  the  other  way  round,'  observed  Bobbie. 
Tity  that  Tidd  is  a  name  which  doesn't  give 
self-respecting  bells  a  chance.  Did  you  hear  the 
Diddlebury  bells  peal,  "Turn  again  Tidd,  chair- 
man of  the  Diddlebury  parish  council,"  Dad,  as 
you  left?  ' 

'  Alas,  we  are  not  fortunate  enough  to  possess 
a  peal  of  bells,'  said  the  rector,  who  always  took 
everything  literally,  and  lacked  the  sense  of 
humour.  'Although  we  have  a  belfry,'  he  added 
with  indecent  haste,  and  one  eye  on  Mr.  Tidd's 
pocket,  as  though  he  half  expected  that  gentle- 
man to  put  his  hand  into  it  and  produce  the 
requisite  sum  for  the  purchase  of  church  bells 
then  and  there. 

The  entrance  of  the  tea-tray  made  a  welcome 
diversion. 


66  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  You  remember  Euphemia  ?  '  said  Miss 
Lavender.  At  which,  forgetting  everything  else 
in  the  astonishment  of  the  moment,  Euphemia 
stood  stock  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room  staring. 

Mr.  Tidd  bowed  as  if  he  were  being  presented 
to  a  duchess. 

'  I  remember  Euphemia  perfectly,'  he  said. 
'She  may  not  recall  the  incident,  but  the  last 
time  I  had  the  privilege  of  meeting  her,  she 
boxed  my  ears.' 

'  What  for  ?  '  asked  Mrs.  Bowers  suspiciously, 
while  the  tray  sloped  to  a  dangerous  angle. 

'  For  throwing  stones  at  a  cat,  if  my  memory 
serves,'  Mr.  Tidd  informed  her,  to  which  the 
sole  response  was  a  sniff  —  one  of  those  sniffs 
which  are  so  much  more  eloquent  than  mere 
words! 

'  Mind  the  tea  things,  Euphemia,'  cried  Miss 
Lavender  in  an  agony,  noticing  the  angle  of  the 
tray  and  momentarily  expecting  to  see  her  best 
Crown  Derby  cups  and  saucers  smashed  to  bits 
on  the  carpet. 

Euphemia  set  the  tray  down  on  the  table,  then 
resumed  her  staring. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  67 

'  You  ain't  never  the  same  ? '  she  said  incredu- 
lously. 

'  As  far  as  the  wrong  side  of  sixty  can  be  the 
same  as  the  right  side  of  twenty,  I  am,'  Mr.  Tidd 
assured  her. 

'Well,  there  now!'  exclaimed  Euphemia. 
'When  I  think  of  the  little  ragamuffin  of  them 
days,  and  look  at  you  now,  I  can  'ardly  believe  it.' 

'Euphemia!'    expostulated    Miss   Lavender. 

With  an  obvious  effort  Euphemia  withdrew 
her  gaze  from  Mr.  Tidd  and  turned  it  upon  her 
mistress. 

'  Is  it  the  truth?'  she  inquired  of  her. 

'  Of  course,  Euphemia,'  said  Miss  Lavender, 
a  trifle  shocked  at  her  handmaiden's  continued 
disbelief.  'Mr.  Tidd  has  told  you.' 

'To  think  of  it!'  A  gratified  smile  spread 
itself  slowly  over  her  face.  'I  wasn't  so  far  out, 
you  see,'  she  said  triumphantly. 

What  about?'  asked  Miss  Lavender. 

1  About  some  of  'em  being  grateful.  'Ere's 
one,  at  any  rate.'  She  indicated  Mr.  Tidd  with  a 
gesture  of  the  head.  'Fancy  remembering  that 


68  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

box  on  the  ears  all  this  time.  Well,  I  reckon  it 
wasn't  wasted,  there's  that  to  be  said  about  it.' 

1  Indeed  it  wasn't,'  said  Mr.  Tidd  solemnly, 
albeit  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  'It  is  one  of  my 
most  grateful  memories.' 

'  Such  a  character,'  remarked  Mrs.  Bowers 
with  empressement,  when  the  door  had  finally 
shut  on  Euphemia's  broad  back.  'Euphemia 
always  reminds  me  of  faithful  Henry.' 

But  as  nobody  at  the  moment  could  recollect 
who  Faithful  Henry  was,  the  observation  fell 
rather  flat,  the  only  person  to  respond  being  the 
rector,  who  murmured,  'Very  apt;  very  apt 
indeed,'  and  then  hastily  rose  to  hand  tea-cups, 
lest  haply  he  might  be  called  upon  to  substan- 
tiate the  aptitude  of  his  wife's  comparison. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  discovery  of  Mr.  Tidd's  identity  had 
been  something  in  the  nature  of  a  shock  to  Miss 
Lavender.  She  felt  as  if  her  youth  had  suddenly 
risen  out  of  the  grave  in  which  she  had  long  ago 
decently  interred  it,  to  confront  her,  a  ghostly, 
pallid  youth,  with  all  its  former  joy  in  life  done 
away  with,  and  only  the  mockery  of  what  she 
once  had  been  remaining. 

It  is  difficult  enough  to  credit  the  passage  of 
time  in  ourselves,  but  in  those  whom  we  have 
lost  sight  of  for  years,  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
realise  the  alteration  which  those  years  have 
wrought,  and  we  resent  it  as  something  un- 
natural and  contrary  to  what  we  have  the  right 
to  expect.  Six  o'clock  on  a  fine  evening  in  June 
is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  best  times  in  the  whole 
year,  but,  like  all  really  beautiful  things,  there 
can  be  a  tinge  of  melancholy  about  it  if  one  is 
in  a  receptive  mood  for  depression,  as  Miss 
Lavender  was  this  particular  evening,  and  no 


70  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

doubt  the  hour  completed  the  feeling  of  dejec- 
tion which  the  sight  of  Mr.  Tidd's  gray  whiskers 
had  begun. 

Those  who  are  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  look 
back  upon  many  a  'crowded  hour  of  glorious 
life'  cannot  fully  appreciate  the  tragedy  of  a  life 
which  has  been  denied  the  opportunities  of  ex- 
pansion; a  life  which,  if  it  has  never  known  the 
bitterness  of  great  suffering,  has  likewise  never 
experienced  the  thrill  of  great  joy  —  for  it  is  a 
tragedy  to  have  reached  the  age  of  fulfilment 
only  to  find  oneself  with  empty  hands  and  a 
heart  devoid  of  hope. 

The  last  occasion  upon  which  these  two  had 
met,  the  highway  of  the  world  had  lain  before 
them,  stretching  out  into  unknown  possibilities, 
and,  to  Miss  Lavender  at  least,  the  way  had 
proved  barren  of  incident,  a  dead,  monotonous 
level  along  which  to  trudge,  without  ever  a  bend 
in  the  road  to  relieve  the  tedium,  or  a  hill  to 
climb,  down  which  she  might  look  back  and 
feel  the  glow  of  satisfaction  at  a  difficulty  sur- 
mounted. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  71 

Euphemia,  coming  in  to  clear  away  the  tea 
things  after  the  departure  of  the  guests,  found 
her  mistress  still  sitting  at  the  table,  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  gazing  out  into  the  garden  where  the 
lengthening  shadows  were  beginning  to  creep 
across  the  lawn.  A  tiny  breeze  had  sprung  up, 
gently  stirring  the  tops  of  the  elms  which 
bordered  the  lane  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
while  from  the  shrubbery  beyond  the  meadow 
the  flutelike  notes  of  a  blackbird  could  be  heard, 
saying  grace  for  the  day  that  was  drawing  to  a 
close. 

*  Well,  if  that  don't  beat  everything,'  ex- 
claimed Euphemia,  who  had  evidently  not  yet 
recovered  from  the  excitements  of  the  afternoon. 

Miss  Lavender  roused  herself  with  a  start. 

1  He's  very  much  altered,'  she  said,  pursuing 
her  own  train  of  thought. 

'  What  do  you  expect?  It's  forty-four  years 
come  August  since  we  set  eyes  on  'im.  Time 
'asn't  stood  still  with  'im  any  more  than  it  'as 
with  us,'  observed  Euphemia. 

Miss  Lavender  gave  a  little  sigh  of  regret. 


72  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  Have  I  changed  as  much  as  he  has,  Eu- 
phemia?' she  asked  wistfully. 

Euphemia  surveyed  her  critically. 

1  It's  'ard  to  say  when  you've  lived  with  a 
person/  she  replied.  'Your  'air  of  course  'as 
dinged  a  bit,  and  there  ain't  so  much  of  it,  but 
then,  on  the  other  'and,  you  'aven't  grown 
whiskers,  which  is  a  pull  in  your  favour.  No, 
I  shouldn't  say,  take  it  all  round,  you'd  changed 
as  much  as  'im.' 

Miss  Lavender  got  up  from  her  seat  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience. 

'  I  have  changed.  I've  changed  as  much  as  he 
has.  I'm  an  old  woman,  as  he's  an  old  man, 
only  he's  something  to  show  for  his  life,  and  I've 
nothing  —  nothing,'  she  said,  throwing  out  her 
arms  wide,  as  though  to  prove  her  words  and 
display  the  emptiness. 

Euphemia  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  almost 
terrified  by  this  unwonted  outburst. 

'  Why,  my  dear,'  she  said  wonderingly,  'what- 
ever's  amiss?' 

With  an  effort  Miss  Lavender  recovered  her- 
self. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  73 

'  Did  you  think  I'd  gone  mad?'  she  said  with 
a  little  shamefaced  laugh.  'It  was  only  I  — 
forgot  myself.' 

'And  did  you  forget  me  too?'  asked  Euphemia. 
turning  away  lest  Miss  Lavender  should  catch 
sight  of  the  pain  in  her  face  at  the  knowledge 
that  all  the  years  of  faithful  service  and  unwav- 
ering loyalty  counted  for  nothing  when  measured 
against  what  might  have  been.  All  the  love, 
all  the  devotion  of  which  she  was  capable,  she 
had  stored  up  in  her  heart,  to  lay  at  the  feet  of 
this  beloved  mistress,  only  to  learn  that  it  had 
not  even  sufficed  to  fill  up  one  corner  of  the 
empty  inner  room  in  her  life. 

Perhaps  Miss  Lavender  guessed  something  of 
the  thoughts  which  were  weighing  down  the  old 
woman's  spirit,  for  she  went  across  to  where  she 
stood  and,  taking  hold  of  her  by  both  shoulders, 
gave  her  a  little  shake  first,  then  gently  kissed 
her  on  the  cheek. 

'  You're  as  great  an  old  fool  as  I  am,'  she 
said.  'How  do  you  suppose  I  should  get 
along  without  you  to  look  after  me,  and  scold 


74  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

me,  and  cosset  me,  and  set  me  to  rights  when 
I'm  wrong.  Don't  go  getting  silly  ideas  into 
your  head,  just  because  I  lost  mine  for  a 
minute.' 

Euphemia  winked  back  the  tears  which  had 
risen  in  her  eyes. 

*  I  can't  bear  for  you  to  fret,'  she  said,  resting 
her  hand  for  a  second  on  Miss  Lavender's.  'I 
don't  ask  anything  back  so  long  as  you're  happy. 
That's  what  matters,  when  all's  said  and  done. 
There!  I  'aven't  time  to  stand  talking  'ere,  else 
I  won't  get  these  things  washed  before  it's  time 
to  set  the  dinner.' 

Picking  up  the  tray,  she  vanished  from  the 
room,  and  Miss  Lavender,  getting  her  knitting, 
settled  herself  down  on  the  sofa,  determined  not 
to  indulge  in  any  more  gloomy  reflections,  or  to 
worry  herself  about  a  state  of  affairs  which  it 
was  beyond  her  power  to  alter. 

It  was  Euphemia  who  reopened  the  subject  of 
Mr.  Tidd. 

'  Sech  a  little  slubber-degullion  as  'e  used 
to  be,'  she  remarked  as  she  placed  the  soup 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  75 

tureen  in  front  of  her  mistress  at  dinner  that 
same  evening. 

*  Who  used?'  inquired  Miss  Lavender,  some- 
what startled  at  this  sudden  and  candid  criticism 
about  some  unknown  person. 

'Why,  that  Tidd,'  rejoined  Euphemia.  'Jimmy 
'e  was  called  in  them  days,  if  I  remember 
right,  and  now  I  suppose  I  shall  'ave  to  call  'im 
"  Sir." ' 

1  Shall  you  mind?'  asked  Miss  Lavender,  see- 
ing possible  breakers  ahead. 

'  I  don't  know  as  I  shall  exactly  mind,  only 
it  comes  queer  from  me  to  'im,'  replied 
Euphemia  thoughtfully.  'From  what  I  can 
recollect,  I  usedn't  to  set  much  store  by  them 
boys.' 

'  But,  Euphemia,  don't  you  think  it  splendid 
that  he  should  have  made  himself  what  he  is?' 
said  Miss  Lavender.  'The  more  you  despised 
him  as  a  boy,  the  more  reason  you  have  to 
admire  him  now.' 

'  I  don't  know  that  it  was  'im  more  than  the 
others,  but  I  dessay  I'll  admire  'im  right  enough 


76  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

if  you'll  give  me  time  to  collect  myself.  At 
present,  I  don't  seem  to  'ave  sorted  'im  out. 
To  think  of  'im  remembering  that  box  on  the 
ears  I  give  'im,  all  these  years.' 

Euphemia  smiled  as  at  some  pleasurable 
recollection. 

1  I'm  glad  I  did  it  now,'  she  remarked. 

'  Why? '  asked  Miss  Lavender,  rather  puzzled. 

Euphemia  considered  for  a  moment. 

'  I  can't  'ardly  say  why,'  she  said  at  length. 
*  Unless  it  is  it  gives  me  a  sort  of  right  to  take 
an  interest  in  that  boy  of  'is.  I  reckon  boxing 
'a  man's  ears  is  much  the  same  as  kissing  'im. 
'E  stands  out  from  among  the  others.' 

'  Euphemia!'  protested  Miss  Lavender,  her 
sense  of  propriety  outraged  by  the  unblushing 
candour  of  this  speech. 

*  Well,   ain't  it  true?'  demanded   Euphemia 

'I  —  I  don't  know.  I  —  I've  had  very  little 
to  do  with  men.  I  never  boxed  the  ears  of 
one  in  my  life,  and  I  most  certainly  never 
did  the — the  other  thing,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
stiffly. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  77 

'  More  did  I.  The  other  thing,  I  mean,  but 
I  expect  I  ain't  far  wrong,'  declared  Euphemia. 

1 1  know  nothing  at  all  about  it.  You  can  take 
away  the  soup,'  said  Miss  Lavneder,  effectually 
closing  the  discussion. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IT  was  almost  inevitable,  under  the  circum- 
stances that  a  certain  intimacy  should  spring  up 
between  the  two  households  so  near  to  one 
another,  and  gradually  it  grew  to  be  the  custom 
for  Mr.  Tidd  and  his  son  to  be  continually  pop- 
ping into  Miss  Lavender's,  either  to  consult  her 
upon  some  domestic  affair,  or  to  present  her  with 
a  bunch  of  greenhouse  flowers,  or  else  to  ask  her 
opinion  about  something  which  they  felt  unequal 
to  dealing  with  unaided.  A  man  without  female 
belongings  always  appeals  to  the  motherhood 
lying  dormant  in  every  true  woman's  heart,  and 
by  degrees  not  only  Miss  Lavender,  but  Eu- 
phemia  also,  took  it  upon  themselves  to  exercise 
a  certain  amount  of  supervision  over  them  in 
such  matters  which  cry  aloud  for  feminine  inter- 
ference, such  as  the  changing  of  wet  boots  and 
the  not  sitting  about  in  damp  clothes,  and  the 
avoidance  of  draughts  when  one  was  hot. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  79 

'  I  never  knew  a  man  wanted  so  much  looking 
after,'  Miss  Lavender  said  a  little  wistfully  one 
day,  when  Mr.  Tidd  had  called  in  to  say  that  he 
did  not  feel  at  all  well  and  should  not  be  sur- 
prised if  he  was  discovered  to  be  suffering  from 
some  mortal  complaint.  'It  was  nothing  in  the 
world  but  his  liver  out  of  order,  I'm  sure.' 

'  Did  you  tell  'im  so  ?  '  inquired  Euphemia, 
to  whom  this  confidence  was  made. 

Miss  Lavender  blushed. 

'  Oh  no.  I  couldn't  have  done  that,'  she 
replied. 

'  Why  couldn't  you  ?  '  pursued  Euphemia. 

'  Oh,  because — because  it  wouldn't  have  been 
the  thing,'  answered  Miss  Lavender,  at  bay. 

*  The  thing  !  '  rejoined  Euphemia  scornfully. 
'I  declare  I  'aven't  patience  with  folk  'oo  make 
out  nobody's  got  an  inside  except  themselves.' 

'  There  are  things  one  doesn't  talk  about/ 
said  Miss  Lavender  primly. 

'  Then  one  ought,  when  occasion  arises,  that's 
my  opinion,'  remarked  Euphemia  decidedly 
'  There's  a  time  to  speak  just  the  same  as  there's 


80  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

a  time  to  keep  silent.  You  wait  till  'e  next  rings 
that  front  door  bell.  I'll  'ave  something  to  say 
to  'im  about  'is  inside,  whether  it's  the  thing,  or 
whether  it  ain't,  I  promise  you.' 

*  He's  got  his  own  medicine.  Why  don't  you 
leave  him  to  cure  himself  ?  '  asked  Miss  Lav- 
ender, in  a  faint-hearted  endeavour  to  stay 
Euphemia's  hand. 

1  'E  knows  better  than  to  dose  'imself  with  'is 
own  stuff,  I'll  lay,'  was  the  contemptuous  reply; 
and  after  that,  Miss  Lavender  gave  up  the  un- 
equal contest  and  left  her  neighbour  to  his  fate. 

Bobbie  did  not  pay  quite  as  many  visits  to 
the  cottage  as  his  father,  and,  when  the  hunting 
season  commenced,  was  only  rarely  to  be  seen, 
but  to  make  up  for  his  absence  Mr.  Tidd  came 
more  frequently  and  stayed  longer,  until  Miss 
Lavender  began  to  regard  a  call  from  him  as 
part  of  the  day's  programme,  and  felt,  if  by  any 
chance  he  failed  to  turn  up,  as  though  the  routine 
of  life  had  been  thrown  out  of  gear. 

When  she  allowed  herself  to  think,  which  was 
not  often,  she  could  not  help  a  sensation  of 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  81 

wonder  overcoming  her  at  the  comparison  of 
past  with  present. 

She  belonged  to  an  age  which  regarded  a  self- 
made  man  as  an  anomaly;  an  age  which  care- 
fully differentiated  between  class  and  class,  and 
in  which  the  game  of  Tom  Tiddler's  ground  was 
a  strictly  nursery  pastime.  In  her  youth,  if  a 
man  belonged  to  what  people  were  pleased  to 
call  the  lower  orders,  it  was  no  easy  matter  for 
him  to  force  his  way  into  Society.  His  latchkey 
might  be  a  golden  one,  but  what  was  the  use  of 
that  when  doors  were  bolted  and  barred  against 
all  those  who  had  not  at  least  one  grandfather 
behind  them? 

If  Miss  Lavender  had  been  accustomed  to  the 
vagaries  of  latter-day  society  she  would  have 
known  that  class  distinctions  are  very  nearly  as 
extinct  as  the  dodo,  and  that  to  be  on  intimate 
terms  with  a  successful  vender  of  patent  medi- 
cines is  to  be  reckoned  among  the  lucky  ones  of 
the  earth.  Laugh  at  him  as  much  as  you  like 
behind  his  back,  but  don't  let  any  contempt  you 
may  feel  for  him  jeopardise  your  chances  of  get- 


82  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

ting  yours,  or  rather  his  money's  worth.  Charity 
still  covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  but  to  be  effec- 
tive it  must  be  gold-plated.  It  is  more  showy 
that  way. 

Miss  Lavender  could  not  be  regarded  as  a 
member  of  the  high  aristocracy,  but  she  was  of 
sufficiently  good  family  (and  sufficiently  behind 
the  times)  to  wonder  what  her  parents  would 
have  said  if  they  could  have  seen  her  receiving, 
on  terms  of  equality,  one  who  was  unquestion- 
ably her  inferior  by  birth.  That  he  had  educated 
himself  to  a  degree  which  was  remarkable,  when 
you  took  into  consideration  his  early  upbringing, 
would  not,  she  knew,  have  weighed  with  them  in 
the  least,  and  now  and  then,  as  she  sat  opposite 
to  him  in  her  little  drawing-room,  pouring  out 
tea  or  listening  to  some  tale  of  domestic  woe,  her 
conscience  pricked  her  for  ever  having  admitted 
him  to  anything  beyond  the  merest  acquaint- 
anceship, though  the  next  minute  that  same 
troublesome  conscience  would  round  upon  her 
and  upbraid  her  for  want  of  charity.  That  Mr. 
Tidd  showed  signs  of  his  humble  origin  there 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  83 

was  no  denying,  but  they  were  all  outward  and 
visible  ones,  and  his  heart  was  in  the  right  place, 
if  his  aitches  were  not,  and  what,  after  all,  do 
the  rules  of  grammar  matter  as  long  as  the  rules 
of  life  are  observed?  A  gentleman  by  instinct 
is  of  more  value  than  many  gentlemen  by  posi- 
tion, and  the  former  Mr.  Tidd  certainly  was, 
although  he  did  say  'ain't'  instead  of  'are  not,' 
and  talked  about  'them  days.'  As  time  went  on, 
Miss  Lavender  found  it  more  and  more  difficult 
to  reconcile  his  identity  with  that  of  the  boy  in 
the  apple  tree,  and  gradually  the  memory  of 
that  scene  in  the  orchard,  which  had  stood  out 
so  vividly  in  her  recollection  on  her  first  re- 
meeting  with  him,  grew  to  be  something  myth- 
ical and  unreal,  like  a  remembered  dream  of 
childhood. 

With  the  shortening  days,  Mr.  Tidd  took  to 
appearing  with  a  book  under  his  arm,  from  which 
he  insisted  upon  reading  aloud  passages  which 
had  caught  his  fancy,  and,  as  he  read,  Miss 
Lavender  would  sit  watching  him,  trying  to 
picture  to  herself  the  various  phases  of  his 


84  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

evolution.  She  had  never  hitherto  had  oppor- 
tunity of  studying  her  fellow-creatures,  and  she 
discovered  it  to  be  an  engrossing  pastime ;  indeed 
when  the  winter  slipped  by  and  warmer  weather 
came,  she  found  herself  almost  regretting  its 
advent,  for  it  must  mean  the  ending  of  those 
pleasant  odd  half-hours  spent  beside  the  blazing 
hearth  during  which  she  had  learnt,  by  quiet 
observation  rather  than  by  actual  conversation, 
a  great  deal  about  her  new  neighbour  which 
years  of  casual  acquaintanceship  could  not  have 
taught  her. 

She  did  not  see  quite  so  much  of  him  as  the 
days  grew  appreciably  longer,  for  he  liked  to 
potter  about  his  garden  and,  as  he  expressed  it, 
'watch  the  flowers  wake  up';  but  Bobbie,  on  the 
other  hand,  now  that  hunting  could  not  claim 
his  time,  appeared  more  frequently,  to  Euphe- 
mia's  beaming  satisfaction. 

Here  was  a  fresh  study  for  Miss  Lavender. 

She  had  never  before  met,  on  terms  of  inti- 
macy, a  young  man  just  down  from  the  'Varsity, 
and  if  he  did  sometimes  take  her  breath  away,  he 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  85 

compelled  her  to  regard  the  world  from  an  en- 
tirely new  standpoint,  and,  without  her  being 
aware  of  it,  did  more  to  broaden  her  mind  than 
any  amount  of  solid  reading  of  complex 
literature. 

Her  ideal  young  man,  up  to  date,  had  com- 
bined the  features  of  the  Prince  Consort  with 
the  attainments  of  a  Senior  Wrangler  and  the 
piety  of  an  Archbishop,  and  Bobbie,  who  cer- 
tainly did  not  come  up  to  her  standard  in  any  of 
the  foregoing  requisites,  upset  all  her  precon- 
ceived notions,  but  nevertheless  she  felt  strangely 
attracted  to  him. 

His  breezy  entrance  at  unorthodox  hours  and 
into  those  parts  of  the  house  devoted  solely  to 
its  conduct  it  was  impossible  to  inveigh  against, 
for  he  simply  paid  no  regard  to  any  remon- 
strances, and  Euphemia,  who  hardly  admitted  a 
tradesman  over  the  threshold  of  the  back  door, 
tamely  submitted  to  his  presence  in  the  kitchen 
in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  and  only  feebly 
protested  when  he  insisted  on  helping  her  to  cook 
the  dinner,  as  he  occasionally  did,  and  when,  at 


86  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Easter,  he  went  away  to  stay  with  an  Oxford 
friend,  the  two  in  the  cottage  felt  quite  dull  and 
lifeless  without  his  periodical  visits  to  look  for- 
ward to. 

It  was  the  last  week  in  April  when  he  walked 
into  the  drawing-room,  unannounced  as  usual. 
Miss  Lavender  had  been  washing  the  Crown 
Derby  bowls  which  stood  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  was  putting  them  back  when  he  came  in  at 
the  open  door,  and  she  was  quite  surprised  at 
the  sudden  thrill  of  pleasure  which  ran  through 
her  at  sight  of  him. 

'You're  back  then,'  she  said,  putting  the  ob- 
vious into  words,  as  nine  people  out  of  every  ten 
do. 

*  Yes,  I'm  back,'  replied  Bobbie. 

'And  how  did  you  enjoy  your  visit?'  went 
on  Miss  Lavender. 

'  Oh,  all  right,  thanks.' 

The  answer  was  so  curt  that  Miss  Lavender 
could  not  help  looking  at  him  a  little  curiously. 
It  was  unlike  him  to  be  sparing  of  words. 

He  evidently  noticed  the  look,  for  he  shuffled 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  87 

his  feet  and  added  hastily,  'I  had  quite  a  good 
time.' 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  Miss  Lavender's  tongue 
to  say,  'Well  you  don't  look  as  if  you  had,'  but 
she  refrained,  and  instead  substituted  the  words, 
'But  you're  glad  to  be  back,  I  daresay  ?  ' 

1  One's  always  glad  to  come  home,'  Bobbie 
said. 

'  You — you  don't  find  it  dull  ?  '  essayed  Miss 
Lavender,  trying  to  grope  her  way  into  the  boy's 
confidence.  That  he  had  come  with  the  inten- 
tion of  confiding  in  her  was  pretty  certain,  only 
he  did  not  seem  to  know  exactly  how  to  begin. 

'  I  love  it,'  Bobbie  answered  with  a  flash  of 
enthusiasm,  which  died  out  almost  immediately. 
1  The  question  is ' 

'Well?'  queried  Miss  Lavender  eagerly. 

'  How  would  it  strike  other  people  ?  ' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'  We're — different  to  them.  Oh  yes,  we  are.' 
(As  she  would  have  protested)  'D'you  suppose 
I  haven't  had  to  face  that  fact  times  without 
number?  We're  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl.' 


88  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

"  But  you're  very  good  red  herring,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  quaintly,  and,  in  spite  of  himself, 
Bobbie  could  not  help  bursting  out  into  a  peal 
of  laughter. 

'  You  do  buck  a  chap  up,'  he  said. 

1  But  I  can't  see  why  you  want  "bucking  up/' 
as  you  call  it,'  she  said  anxiously.  'You're  just 
the  same  person  as  you  were  when  you  went 
away.' 

1  Am  I  ?  '  he  said.  'Is  anybody  ever  the  same 
person  for  a  fortnight  together  ?  ' 

'  Indeed  I  hope  so,'  said  Miss  Lavender  quite 
indignantly.  'I've  been  the  same  person  for  the 
last  forty  years.' 

Bobbie  shook  his  head. 

'  You  think  you  have,  but  you  haven't/  he 
remarked.  'And  what's  more,  you  never  will  be 
as  long  as  time  endures.  Each  man,  woman, 
or  child  you  meet,  every  word  you  utter,  every 
thought  that  comes  into  your  brain,  leaves  you 
different  to  what  you  were  before.  By  Jove,  it's 
enough  to  give  one  the  jumps  to  think  of  it  ! ' 

Miss    Lavender    smiled    involuntarily.    The 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  89 

boyish  conclusion  sounded  so  contradictory  to 
the  sober,  middle-aged  reflections  that  had  gone 
before. 

1  Oh,  you  can  laugh,'  he  said,  noticing  the 
smile.  'But  it's  true  for  all  that.'  He  went  to 
the  window  as  he  spoke,  and  stood  there,  with 
his  back  to  the  room,  swinging  the  blind-cord  to 
and  fro  while  he  stared  out  into  the  garden. 

.  Miss  Lavender  followed  him  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

'  Your  father's  so  proud  of  you,  Bobbie,'  she 
said,  and  instantly  wondered  what  had  prompted 
her  to  do  so,  unless  it  was  some  subtle  instinct 
which  warned  her  that  the  two  men,  father  and 
son,  had  arrived  at  a  crisis  in  their  hitherto  un- 
clouded relationship,  such  a  crisis  as  too  often 
arises  when  the  boy  first  realises  his  manhood, 
and  demands  that  others  shall  recognise  it  too. 
She  had  a  foreboding,  none  the  less  disquieting 
because  it  was  uncircumstantiated,  that  Bobbie 
was  going  to  hurt  his  father  in  some  way  or 
another,  and  she  resented  it,  though  without 
knowing  why.  It  was  no  business  of  hers 


90  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

whether  Mr.  Tidd  was  disappointed  in  his  son 
or  not,  but  if  she  could  prevent  it  she  would. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  pressing  him  for  an 
explanation  of  this  strange,  unaccustomed  mood 
of  his  when,  to  her  intense  annoyance,  the  front 
door  bell  rang,  and  the  next  minute  a  well-known 
voice  could  be  heard  asking  whether  she  was  at 
home. . 

'  The  Guv'nor,'  exclaimed  Bobbie. 

Miss  Lavender  turned  to  greet  the  new-comer, 
and,  even  as  she  did  so,  her  previous  visitor 
slipped  out  through  the  window  and  disappeared 
round  the  corner. 

'  Had  Bobbie  here  ?  '  inquired  Mr.  Tidd  when 
he  had  shaken  hands. 

'  Yes.  He's — he's  just  gone,'  said  Miss 
Lavender,  speaking  the  strictest  truth,  yet  feel- 
ing all  the  time  as  if  she  was  telling  a  lie. 

'  Did  'e  tell  you  'e's  got  some  of  his  fine  friends 
coming  to  stay  next  week  ?  '  asked  the  old 
gentleman. 

*  No,  he  didn't,'  replied  Miss  Lavender,  be- 
ginning to  smell  a  rat. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  91 

*  Ah,  he  'as  though.  He  won't  want  the  old 
gent  then,  will  'e  ?  ' 

'  Indeed,  I  hope  he  will,'  exclaimed  Miss 
Lavender  indignantly. 

Mr.  Tidd  shook  his  head. 

1  No,  no,'  he  said,  'there  comes  a  time  when 
the  old  folks  have  to  make  room  for  the  young 
'uns.  That's  'ow  the  world  wags,  Miss  Lavender, 
and  we  have  to  take  things  as  we  find  'em.  Well, 
if  I  have  to  give  my  boy  up  I  'ope  I'll  do  it  with 
a  good  grace,  though  I'll  miss  'im,  there's  no 
denying.  'E's  meant  a  lot  to  me.' 

A  sudden  light  broke  in  upon  Miss  Lavender. 

'  Why  do  you  talk  of  giving  him  up  ?  '  she 
asked.  'Is  he  engaged  to  be  married  ?  ' 

1  Not  rightly  engaged,  as  you  might  say,  but 
keeping  company,  Miss  Lavender,  keeping 
company.' 

Miss  Lavender  had  heard  the  phrase  applied 
to  the  lower  classes,  and  could  not  refrain  from 
commenting  on  it. 

'  Keeping  company  !  '  she  repeated  dubi- 
ously. '  But  surely  we  don't  keep  company  ?  ' 


92  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  Don't  we,  heh,  don't  we  ?  '  said  the  shrewd 
old  man.  'What  d'you  call  it  then  when  a  young 
man  and  woman  are  courting  one  another  ?  ' 

*  An — an  understanding,  I  believe,'  answered 
Miss  Lavender  hesitatingly. 

*  Then  Bobbie  and  a  certain  young  lady  have 
an  understanding,  if  you  prefer  the  word,  and, 
if  I  don't  make  a  mistake,  it's  me  who's  the 
stumbling-block  to  its  being  something  more.' 

'  Do  you  mean  you  disapprove  ?  ' 

'  Not  me.  If  anybody  disapproves  it's  the 
young  lady's  father.  From  what  I  can  make  out, 
he  thinks  me  a  common  old  fellow,  and  the  rest 
of  it.  So  I  am,  but  if  I'm  ready  to  pay  the  piper 
and  let  him  call  the  tune,  I  don't  see  what  I 
matter  to  him  or  any  one  else.  Suppose  'e 
thinks  my  blood  ain't  good  enough  to  run  in  the 
veins  of  his  grandchildren — that's  about  it.' 

'  These  are  the  people,  I  conclude,  that  Bobbie 
has  been  staying  with  ?  '  said  Miss  Lavender, 
beginning  to  grasp  the  situation.  'Who  are 
they  ?  ' 

'  Chalmers,  their  name  is.    Young  Chalmers 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  93 

was  at  Oxford  with  my  boy.  That's  where  he 
met  the  sister.  The  father  is  brother  to  Sir 
Jacob  Chalmers.  He's  a  parson;  not,  I  take  it, 
because  'e  'ad  leanings  that  way,  but  because 
the  family  living  wanted  filling,  and  they're  the 
sort  of  folk  who  think  the  tenants  on  the  estate 
'aven't  much  chance  of  getting  to  'eaven  except 
by  'anging  on  to  the  coat-tails  of  one  of  'em.' 

Miss  Lavender  knew  by  the  way  aitches  were 
flying  that  Mr.  Tidd  was  labouring  under  strong 
emotion,  although  outwardly  he  preserved  his 
calm. 

'  It's  they  who  are  coming  here  next  week  ?  ' 
she  asked. 

Mr.  Tidd  nodded. 

1  I'm  on  appro.,'  he  said.  'A  reversal  of  the 
usual  order  of  things,  ain't  it  ?  ' 

1  Well,  whatever  you  do,  don't  make  yourself 
too  cheap,'  counselled  Miss  Lavender. 

'  Cheap  !  '  exclaimed  Mr.  Tidd.  'That's  a  good 
'un!  I  reckon  I've  got  to  make  myself  pretty 
expensive.  You  mustn't  think  I  grudge  it  to  my 
boy  though,  Miss  Lavender.  I  don't  want  but 


94  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

his  'appiness.  He's  been  a  good  boy  to  me,  bless 
'im,  and  I  won't  stand  in  'is  way,  so  long  as  'e 
is  happy.  I'll  own  it'll  come  a  bit  hard  parting 
with  'im,  but  that's  a  thing  that  all  parents  have 
to  put  up  with.' 

'  Why  shouldn't  they  live  here  with  you  ?  ' 
suggested  Miss  Lavender.  'Surely  the  house  is 
large  enough.' 

But  this  proposition  Mr.  Tidd  absolutely  re- 
fused to  listen  to. 

1  No,  no,'  he  said.  'That  wouldn't  be  fair  to 
Bobbie  nor  his  wife.  What  would  she  be  doing 
shut  up  in  the  country  with  an  old  dullard  like 
me?  Bobbie  and  his  wife  must  start  fair,  same 
as  I  and  my  Missus  did,  though,  thank  God, 
I  can  afford  to  ensure  'em  against  the  struggle 
we  'ad.  Not  that  a  bit  of  roughing  it's  bad  for  a 
young  couple,  when  you  come  to  think,  for,  after 
all,  trouble's  a  great  teacher,  and  when  you've 
'ad  to  fight  every  inch  of  the  way,  you  learn  to 
value  the  one  who's  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder 
with  you.  Sometimes  it  strikes  me  a  bit  hard  that 
she  had  all  the  rough  and  so  little  of  the  smooth, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  95 

but  there!  It's  wonderful  'ow  things  pan  out 
for  the  best,  and  if  we  don't  see  the  reason  of  'em 
in  this  world,  I  make  no  doubt  we  shall  in  the 
next.  Well,  well.  Here  we  are  talking  as  if 
Bobbie  was  married  and  done  for,  when  he  ain't 
even  engaged.' 

1  No.  And  from  what  I  can  gather  of  the 
Chalmers  family  I  sincerely  trust  he  won't  be,' 
said  Miss  Lavender  quite  viciously. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.  TIDD  apparently  made  himself  expensive 
enough  to  satisfy  the  demands  even  of  Mr. 
Chalmers,  for  in  less  than  a  week  from  the  date 
of  her  arrival  at  Starr  Cross,  Miss  Marjorie 
Chalmers  graciously  consented,  presumably  in 
consideration  of  handsome  settlements  in  pros- 
pect, to  give  her  hand,  if  not  her  heart,  to 
Bobbie,  who,  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight, 
burst  in  upon  Miss  Lavender  to  tell  her  the  won- 
derful news  and  suggest  bringing  his  newly-ac- 
quired fiancee  to  tea  in  order  that  she  might  be 
able  to  assure  him  of  his  extraordinary  good 
fortune,  such  as  had  been  enjoyed  by  no  young 
man  hitherto,  and  the  like  of  which  no  young 
man  would  ever  enjoy  through  future  ages.  The 
egotism  of  youth  in  love  is  colossal,  and  its  ex- 
periences unique  !  !  ! 

All  the  rest  of  the  morning  Miss  Lavender 
was  in  a  flutter  of  excitement  which  she  could 
not  conceal,  and  which  took  the  form  of  trotting 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  97 

backwards  and  forwards  between  the  kitchen 
and  the  drawing-room,  with  occasional  side 
rushes  to  the  storeroom  to  supplement  Euphe- 
mia's  already  lavish  preparations  with  some  sud- 
denly recollected  dainty,  until  that  harassed 
person  was  driven  almost  wild! 

1  Fancy  Mr.  Bobbie  going  to  be  married  !  ' 
she  kept  on  saying  with  such  persistent  reitera- 
tion that,  at  last,  Euphemia  was  stung  to  reply: 

'  It  don't  need  all  that  amount  o'  fancying,  as 
I  can  see.  It  ain't  as  if  we've  known  'im  long.' 

'  I  suppose  we  haven't,  as  time  goes,'  agreed 
Miss  Lavender  unwillingly.  'But  I  feel  as  if  we 
had,'  she  added  more  cheerfully. 

'  Feel  as  you  like,  but  it  don't  alter  the  fact,' 
insisted  Euphemia,  laying  down  the  law  with 
aggravating  deliberation. 

'I've  the  greatest  respect  for  Mr.  Tidd,'  de- 
clared Miss  Lavender,  faintly  endeavouring  to 
hold  her  own,  but  without  avail. 

'  I've  got  a  great  respect  for  the  King  on  'is 
throne,  but  I'd  'ardly  go  so  far  as  to  say  7e  was 
a  friend  o'  mine.' 


98  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

1  You  can't  have  friendship  without  respect,' 
Miss  Lavender  asserted,  flourishing  a  pot  of 
blackberry  jelly  in  one  hand. 

'  You  can't  'ave  a  nose  without  a  face,  but  you 
can  'ave  a  face  without  a  nose,'  observed  Euphe- 
mia,  calmly  continuing  to  stone  raisins. 

1  That's  no  argument,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
shortly,  retiring  in  disorder. 

'  You'll  bring  in  the  tea  directly  they  come, 
Euphemia,'  directed  Miss  Lavender,  hovering 
round  the  tea-table  as  though  she  had  a  suspi- 
cion that  the  minute  her  eye  was  off  it,  it  would 
deliberately  set  to  work  to  disarrange  itself. 
'They  won't  be  long  now,  I  expect.  It's  a 
quarter-past  four.  You  put  a  damp  cloth  over 
the  savoury  sandwiches?  That's  right.  Re- 
member to  take  it  off  before  you  bring  them  in. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  draw  down  the  blind  a 
little,  and  just  put  one  small  lump  of  coal  on  the 
fire,  in  case  she  finds  the  room  chilly.' 

'  Nobody  'card  of  a  fire  in  May  in  my  young 
days,'  grumbled  Euphemia  as  she  proceeded  to 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  99 

carry  out  her  mistress's  orders.  'I  don't  know 
what  folks  are  comin'  to,  what  with  wantin'  to 
warm  themselves  beside  the  fire  in  the  middle  o' 
summer,  and  breakin'  the  ice  in  ponds  to  'ave 
a  bathe  in  the  middle  o'  winter!  If  one  was 
livin'  in  Australia,  where  everything's  contrary 
to  nature,  one  could  understand  it.' 

'  Don't  be  absurd,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
severely.  'Nature  is  nature,  all  the  world  over.' 

*  D'  you  mean  to  tell  me  it's  natural  to  eat 
your  Christmas  puddin'  in  weather  so  'ot  that 
as  often  as  not  you  take  it  for  a  picnic,  or  that 
it's  natural  to  'ave  your  swans  black,  or  to  be 
walkin'  about  'ead  downwards  ?  '  demanded 
Euphemia. 

'  It's  quite  as  natural  to  them  as  it  is  to  us.' 

'  To  walk  about  'ead  downwards !  That  you'll 
never  make  me  believe.' 

'  Of  course  they  don't  walk  about  in  any  such 
ridiculous  fashion,'  said  Miss  Lavender,  tapping 
her  foot  on  the  floor.  'I  meant  the  black  swans, 
and  the  pudding,  and — and  so  on,'  she  ended 
up,  lamely. 


100  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  Well,  any'ow,  it  ain't  natural  to  me  to  see  a 
fire  burning  in  the  grate  in  the  middle  o'  May, 
with  the  clean  chintzes  on  the  chairs  and  all.  If 
you  ain't  careful,  it'll  mean  another  Spring-clean. 
It's  nigh  upon  the  half  hour.  I'd  better  be 
putting  the  kettle  on  to  boil.' 

'  You  got  the  cream  from  Mrs.  Ricketts  ?  ' 

'  It's  in  the  larder  to  keep  cool.' 

'  Then  directly  you've  shown  them  in,  you'll 
bring  tea  without  my  ringing  ?  ' 

'That'll  be  all  right.  Don't  you  start 
worryin','  said  Euphemia  reassuringly. 

When  she  had  gone  out  of  the  room,  Miss 
Lavender  took  up  her  knitting,  then  laid  it  back 
again  on  the  table. 

'  They'll  be  here  any  minute  now;  it  isn't 
worth  while  to  start  another  row.' 

As  a  matter  of  fact  there  would  have  been 
time  for  many  rows,  for  the  minutes  went  by 
and  they  had  not  come,  nor  had  they  at  the  end 
of  five  minutes,  nor  ten,  nor  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  and  when  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece 
struck  the  hour  there  was  still  no  sign  of  them. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  101 

Miss  Lavender  sat  regarding  the  tea  she  had 
been  at  such  trouble  to  prepare  daintily,  with 
rather  a  rueful  countenance.  It  seemed  that  it 
was  all  going  to  be  wasted. 

At  a  quarter-past  five  Euphemia  put  her  head 
in  at  the  door,  to  know  if  her  mistress  would  wait 
any  longer  or  begin  tea  without  her  expected 
visitors. 

'  I  suppose  I  had  better  not  wait,'  Miss 
Lavender  said  a  little  disappointedly.  'They 
aren't  likely  to  be  coming  now.' 

*  Nice  manners,  I  must  say  !  '  said  Euphemia, 
setting  down  the  tray  with  a  bang  which  caused 
the  cups  to  rattle  in  their  saucers.  'I  don't  envy 
Mr.  Bobbie,  if  that's  'er  line.' 

'  If  what's  her  line  ?  '  inquired  Miss  Lavender. 

'  Putting  folks  out  for  nothing,  like  this,' 
snapped  Euphemia,  who  was  smarting  under  the 
injury  of  having  made  a  cake  after  a  special 
recipe  of  her  own  which  was  reserved  for  high 
days  and  holidays. 

And  even  as  she  spoke,  the  garden  gate  shut 


102  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

with  a  clang,  and  footsteps  and  voices  sounded 
coming  up  the  flagged  path  to  the  front  door. 

1  There  they  are,'  said  Miss  Lavender  excit- 
edly. 'Go  and  let  them  in.' 

1  A  nice  hour  to  turn  up!  They'd  better  have 
stopped  away  altogether,'  grumbled  Euphemia, 
trundling  off  to  do  her  mistress's  bidding. 

What  sort  of  a  girl  she  expected  Marjorie 
Chalmers  to  be  she  hardly  knew,  but  she  was 
certainly  not  prepared  for  the  ultra-fashionable 
damsel  whom  Euphemia  presently  ushered  in, 
followed  by  Bobbie,  smirking  self-consciously  at 
her  very  high  heels. 

'  You  will  let  me  give  you  a  cup  of  tea,'  she 
said,  when  the  ceremony  of  introduction  was 
over  and  they  were  sitting  down. 

'  Thanks.  Just  a  tiny  half,'  drawled  Miss 
Chalmers. 

*  Cream  and  sugar,  my  dear?  I  know  young 
people  like  sweet  things.'  She  smiled  in  friendly 
fashion  at  her  guest,  but  there  was  no  answer- 
ing smile  on  Miss  Chalmer's  well-bred  counte- 
nance. Rather,  she  looked  at  the  simple  little 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  103 

lady  opposite  her  as  though  she  were  a  stuffed 
figure  in  a  museum,  labelled  'Specimen  of  Early 
Victorian  Spinster,  very  rare.' 

1  Neither,  thanks.  Just  a  little  lemon,'  she 
said  languidly. 

Miss  Lavender  dropped  the  sugar-tongs,  and 
peered  at  her  helplessly  over  the  top  of  her 
spectacles. 

'  Lemon  !  '  she  repeated  vaguely.  'Did  you 
say  lemon  ?  ' 

Miss  Chalmers  laughed,  a  half-sneering,  half- 
patronising  laugh. 

1  Never  mind.  On  second  thoughts,  I  don't 
think  I'll  have  any  tea.' 

'  Oh,  but  of  course  you  must,  my  dear,'  said 
Miss  Lavender,  recovering  herself  with  an  effort. 
*  If  you  don't  mind  waiting  a  few  minutes  you 
shall  have  your  lemon.  Will  you  ring  the  bell, 
please,  Bobbie.' 

1 A  little  lemon,  please,'  she  said  when 
Euphemia  appeared  at  the  door. 

'  Lemon,'    exclaimed    Euphemia    amazedly 
'Whatever  do  you  want  with  lemon  now  ?  ' 


104  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  Kindly  do  as  I  bid  you,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
sharply. 

Euphemia  withdrew,  shutting  the  door  behind 
her,  but  the  next  instant  it  opened  a  crack,  and 
her  head  was  thrust  through  the  aperture. 

'  In  a  glass  ?  '  she  inquired. 

Miss  Lavender  hesitated,  and  glanced  at 
Bobbie  for  inspiration;  but  he  was  far  too  en- 
grossed in  gazing  at  his  lady-love  to  notice  her 
appeal,  and  it  was  Miss  Chalmers  who  spoke. 

'  It  really  isn't  worth  all  this  fuss,'  she  said 
disdainfully.  Tray  don't  put  yourself  out  on  my 
account.' 

'  But  you  must  have  some  tea,'  Miss  Lavender 
said,  to  whom  tea  was  not  a  meal,  but  a  solemn 
rite. 

Miss  Chalmers,  however,  steadily  declined,  to 
her  hostess's  poignant  distress,  who  felt  that,  in 
some  way  or  another,  she  was  responsible  for 
the  catastrophe. 

'  At  least  you'll  have  something  to  eat,  some 
tea-cake,  or  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter  ?  '  she 
urged  her  guest,  but  Miss  Chalmers  was  not  to 
be  cajoled. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  105 

'  It's  so  late,  we  shall  be  dining  soon,'  was  the 
sole  reply,  and  the  way  she  said  it  implied  that 
Miss  Lavender  was  to  blame  for  the  time. 

The  conversation  languished  on  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  during  which  time  Miss  Lavender 
learnt  that  the  young  lady  hated  the  country, 
pitied  those  whose  fate  it  was  to  live  anywhere 
else  but  in  London,  and  only  remembered  the 
existence  of  her  home  when  she  wanted  to 
squeeze  money  out  of  her  long-suffering  parent. 

1  It's  rather  a  good  thing  Papa  loathes  me  so, 
as  he  forks  out  at  once,  to  get  rid  of  me,'  was  the 
outspoken  comment  of  this  dutiful  daughter. 

1  I'm  sure  you're  joking,  my  dear,'  said  Miss 
Lavender,  striving  manfully  to  conceal  the 
horror  she  felt  at  this  statement. 

i  I  never  joke  for  the  benefit  of  people  who 
would  probably  not  appreciate  it,'  said  Miss 
Chalmers  coldly,  and  the  covert  insolence  of  the 
remark  made  even  Bobbie,  who  was  in  the  bliss- 
ful stage  of  thinking  everything  his  fiancee  said 
or  did  perfect,  grow  uncomfortably  hot. 

'  We'd  better  be  off.   It's  getting  on  for  six,' 


106  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

he  reminded  her,  and  Miss  Lavender,  for  once  in 
her  life,  sped  the  parting  guest,  and  did  not 
attempt  to  persuade  them  to  stay  on. 

She  watched  them  pass  the  window  on  their 
homeward  way,  from  behind  the  curtain,  until 
they  were  out  of  sight,  then  returned  to  the  table 
and  looked  regretfully  at  the  untouched  dainties 
which  she  had  been  at  such  pains  to  prepare. 
It  is  humiliating  to  find  that  even  the  swine  have 
disdained  your  pearls! 

Euphemia,  when  she  came  in  presently  to  take 
the  tea  things  away,  made  no  effort  to  hide  her 
opinion  of  Miss  Chalmers. 

'  A  proud  look  and  an  'igh  stomach  don't  make 
for  happiness,  as  Mr.  Bobbie  'ull  find  to  his  cost,' 
she  observed  caustically,  lumping  the  still  piled- 
up  plates  on  to  a  tray.  'I  suppose  oysters  and 
champagne  are  more  in  her  ladyship's  style.  She 
might  at  least  have  pretended,  even  if  she  didn't 
want.' 

The  following  morning  Mr.  Tidd  paid  his  first 
visit  for  more  than  a  week,  and  Miss  Lavender 
was  quite  startled  at  his  appearance,  he  looked 
so  ill  and  worried. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  107 

She  was  out  in  the  garden  gathering  the 
daffodils  which  made  bright  patches  of  yellow 
in  the  cool  green  grass  under  the  almond-trees, 
the  blossom  of  which  was  already  beginning  to 
fall  in  showers  of  pink.  Mr.  Tidd  sat  heavily 
down  on  the  wooden  seat,  and  taking  off  his  hat, 
put  it  beside  him,  then,  producing  a  large  red 
handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  wiped  his 
forehead. 

'  You've  seen  'er  ?  '  he  remarked  after  a  few 
moments  of  uncomfortable  silence,  during  which 
each  waited  for  the  other  to  speak  first. 

'  Yes.'  The  monosyllable  came  out  with  a 
snap.  Miss  Lavender  felt  its  utter  inadequacy, 
but  for  the  life  of  her  she  could  think  of  nothing 
to  round  it  off  and  make  it  seem  a  little  less 
tell-tale. 

'  WeU  ?  ' 

'  She's  very — fashionable.'  As  before,  she 
would  have  given  worlds  to  have  been  able  to 
say  more,  but  the  words  simply  would  not  come, 
though  she  realised  how  damning  the  faint  praise 
must  sound.  To  her  relief,  however,  the  old 


108  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

gentleman  seized  upon  them  as  though  they  were 
a  rope  thrown  to  him  in  a  troubled  sea  to  pull 
him  through  the  surf. 

'  That's  it/  he  said  with  tremulous  eagerness. 
'We  can't  judge  them  fashionable  folk  by  our- 
selves. It's  all  pose  with  them.  It  ain't  really 
their  true  characters  ?  ' 

The  note  of  interrogation  in  his  voice  nega- 
tived all  his  efforts  to  make  it  sound  an  asser- 
tion, and  Miss  Lavender  felt  a  fierce  resentment 
rising  within  her  against  the  girl  who  had  sown 
even  the  tiniest  seed  of  suspicion  in  his  trusting 
nature.  For  more  than  twenty  years  he  had  set 
his  boy  in  a  niche  in  his  heart,  and  worshipped 
him  almost  as  an  idol,  and  this  creature  had 
merely  to  beckon  him  with  her  little  finger  for 
him  to  follow,  leaving  the  niche  empty  and  dese- 
crated. It  was  the  story  over  again  of  the  poor 
man  and  his  ewe-lamb,  that  story  which  goes  on 
continually,  which,  old  as  it  is,  is  always  new. 

'  They  aren't  married  yet,'  she  found  herself 
saying  in  consolatory  tones,  then  stopped  con- 
fusedly, remembering  that  he  had  not  yet  con- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  109 

fided  in  her,  although  she  knew,  as  well  as  if  he 
had  told  her  in  so  many  words,  what  was  passing 
in  his  mind. 

'  But  they  will  be/  he  answered  heavily.  'I 
don't  know  what's  come  over  the  boy,  she's  fair 
bewitched  'im.' 

1  You  can  stop  it,  if  you  like,'  said  Miss 
Lavender,  and  immediately  hated  herself  for  the 
suggestion. 

'  You  mean  I  needn't  give  'im  the  money  ?  ' 

She  kept  silence. 

1  No,  I  couldn't  do  that.  It  'ud  break  the  boy's 
heart.  I've  got  to  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter; 
I've  got  to  make  up  my  mind  to  'is  going  away 
from  me,  and  I've  got  to  make  up  my  mind  that 
when  'e's  gone,  'e  won't  come  back." 

'Won't  come  back!  What  nonsense!  Of 
course  he'll  come  back,'  said  Miss  Lavender  with 
that  forced  cheerfulness  which  one  uses  with 
children  and  invalids,  but  old  Mr.  Tidd  shook 
a  mournful  head. 

'  It  won't  be  the  same,'  he  insisted.  *  'E  won't 
be  my  boy  like  'e  was  before.  For  the  matter  of 
that,  'e  ain't  my  boy  now,  same  as  'e  was.' 


110  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  How  do  you  mean  ?  ' 

'  Mean?  I  mean  she's  taught  'im  to  be 
ashamed  o'  me,  me,  'is  father,  who'd  cut  off  my 
right  hand  if  it  'ud  do  'im  any  good.'  His  voice 
broke  on  the  words,  and  Miss  Lavender  was  ter- 
ribly afraid,  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  that  he 
was  going  to  lose  his  self-control,  which  would 
have  embarrassed  her  dreadfully;  but  he  was 
made  of  too  stern  stuff  for  that,  and  after  a  pause 
went  on  speaking. 

'  One  'as  eyes  in  the  back  of  one's  head,  when 
one's  trying  not  to  see  anything.  I  think  I  could 
'a'  borne  anything  but  that.'  He  got  up  from 
where  he  sat  and  took  a  few  steps  towards  her, 
then  turned  and  went  again  to  the  seat,  though 
he  did  not  sit  down,  but  stood  there  twisting  his 
fingers  nervously. 

'  Are  you  quite  sure  you  are  not  mistaken  ?  ' 
asked  Miss  Lavender  gently.  'I  can't  believe 
such  a  thing  of  Bobbie.' 

'  I  wish  to  God  I  was,  ma'am,'  he  said  bitterly. 
'I  shouldn't  mind  'er  laughing  at  me  behind  my 
back.  I'm  a  common  old  man,  and  I  daresay  I 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  111 

strike  'er  as  funny,  compared  to  the  sort  of  folks 
she's  used  to,  but  what  I  can't  stand  is  'er 
making  game  of  me  to  my  boy.  It's — it's  cruel, 
that's  what  it  is,  downright  cruel.  She's  be- 
witched 'im,  that's  what  she's  done.  Does  she 
think  I  don't  see  'er  smiling  when  I  say  my  words 
wrong,  and  what's  worse,  making  Bobbie  smile 
too?  She's  teaching  'im  to  look  down  on  me, 
that's  what  she's  doing,  and  yet  she'll  be  ready 
enough  to  live  on  my  money.  She  won't  think 
twice  about  spending  it  on  the  food  she  puts  in 
'er  mouth,  and  the  clothes  she  puts  on  'er  back. 
The  money  ain't  common,  it's  only  the  old  fool 
who  made  it.' 

1  It's  himself  Bobbie  ought  to  be  ashamed  of,' 
said  Miss  Lavender  indignantly,  but  the  loyal 
old  man  refused  to  attach  any  blame  to  his  idol, 
even  while  acknowledging  the  hurt. 

*  'E'd  never  do  it  of  'is  own  accord,'  he  stoutly 
maintained.  '  'E  can't  bear  to  go  against  'er  in 
anything,  that's  what  it  is.  Young  folks  in  love 
are  very  dependent  on  one  another;  I  ought  to 
try  and  remember  that.' 


112  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

1  Do  you  think  he  is  really  in  love  with  her  ?  ' 
Miss  Lavender  could  not  refrain  from  asking. 

'  That's  the  one  comfort  I  'ave/  replied  Mr. 
Tidd.  *  'E  just  worships  'er.  D'  you  think  other- 
wise 'e'd  stand  'er  despising  me,  who've  been 
father  and  mother  to  'im  all  these  years  ?  '  He 
turned  upon  her  quite  fiercely  in  his  outraged 
pride,  as  though  daring  her  to  hold  a  contrary 
opinion. 

'  It's  extraordinary,'  she  remarked;  'he's  not 
known  her  so  very  long.' 

Miss  Lavender  had  not  had  the  advantage  of 
a  classical  education,  else  she  might  possibly 
have  recollected  that  once  upon  a  time  there  was 
a  lady  called  Circe,  who  possessed  the  power  of 
turning  men  into  swine  in  the  space  of  a  few 
minutes ! 

'  Well,  anyway,  I've  got  to  make  the  best  of 
it,'  Mr.  Tidd  said  heavily. 

'Are  you  sure  you  are  making  the  best  of  it?' 
ventured  Miss  Lavender. 

'  What  d'you  mean  ?  ' 

'  Are  you  sure  it  is  for  the  best  that  Bobbie 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  113 

should  marry  this  young — lady?  Wouldn't  it 
be  better  that  he  should  endure  a  little  unhap- 
piness  now  than  be  miserable  for  the  rest  of  his 
life  ?  ' 

'  You  mean  he  should  break  it  off  ?  ' 

*  There  would  be  no  need  for  that  if  you  were 
firm,  and  refused  to  give  him  the  allowance  she 
expects.' 

He  pondered  for  a  minute,  then  shook  his 
head. 

1  One  can't  arrange  for  other  folks  like  that,' 
he  said.  'I've  never  interfered  with  my  boy  yet, 
and  I  ain't  going  to  begin  now.  If  'e  makes  a 
mistake — well — 'e'll  only  'ave  'imself  to  blame, 
but  if  /  make  it,  'e'll  hold  me  responsible  all  'is 
life,  and  that  'ud  be  worse  than  anything.' 

1  If  only  I  could  help  you,'  cried  Miss  Lav- 
ender involuntarily. 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  flickering  smile. 

*  You  do,'  he  said  gratefully. 
'I  do!    How?' 

1  You  let  me  come  'ere  and  growl  over  my 
young  cub,  like  the  old  bear  that  I  am.  You 


114  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

won't  say  a  word  to  'im  though,  will  you?  I 
wouldn't,  for  the  world,  let  'im  know  I  was 
fretting.  I  wouldn't  'ave  told  you,  only  things 
are  'ard  to  bear  by  oneself,  and  I've  nobody  to 
turn  to.' 

He  shook  hands  hurriedly  and  was  gone, 
leaving  Miss  Lavender  with  an  absurd  feeling 
that  some  of  the  colour  had  been  taken  out  of 
the  golden  daffodils,  and  that  the  grass  was  not 
so  green,  nor  the  sky  so  blue,  nor  the  blossom 
so  pink  as  it  had  been  half  an  hour  ago. 


CHAPTER  IX 

1  MR.  TIDD  has  invited  me  to  go  for  a  drive  in 
his  motor  car,  Euphemia,'  remarked  Miss 
Lavender,  in  as  natural  a  tone  as  she  could  as- 
sume considering  the  importance  of  the  dis- 
closure she  was  making. 

Euphemia,  who  happened  to  be  tacking  up 
the  mantel  border  where  it  had  broken  loose 
from  its  moorings,  all  but  swallowed  the  nail 
which  she  was  holding  at  the  moment  between 
her  lips. 

'  If  I  didn't  think  there  was  something  on,  the 
way  you  kept  on  fidgetin'  with  your  work, 
puttin'  it  down  and  pickin'  it  up  again  until  I 
could  'ave  screamed  aloud,'  she  said. 

Euphemia  had  a  rooted  conviction  that  the 
real  control  of  anything  which  moved  without 
visible  agency  was  vested  in  the  powers  of  dark- 
ness, and  she  steadily  refused  to  believe  for  one 
single  instant  that  the  chauffeur  had  any  voice 


116  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

in  the  matter  of  the  guidance  of  a  car.  She  was 
firmly  of  the  opinion  that  an  automobile  could, 
if  it  chose,  take  the  law  into  its  own  hands,  and 
she  never  saw  one  coming  along  the  road  with- 
out fleeing  for  refuge  into  the  nearest  cottage,  or, 
if  that  was  an  impossibility,  she  would  open  her 
umbrella  and  cower  behind  it,  pressed  tightly 
up  against  the  hedge,  her  eyes  shut,  faintly 
hoping  for  the  best,  but  quite  prepared  for  the 
worst. 

Until  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Tidd,  motors  in 
Diddlebury  had  been  of  sufficient  rarity  to 
gather  together  a  crowd  if  one  stopped,  as  it  oc- 
casionally did,  for  petrol  (which,  by  the  by,  was 
not  obtainable),  but  now  even  the  once  safe 
road  up  to  the  Heath  was  turned  into  what 
Euphemia  pathetically  described  as  'a  railroad 
without  rails,  and  engines  shootin'  about  as  the 
fancy  takes  'em,  without  let  or  'indrance.' 

Euphemia,  in  fact,  regarded  motors  as  a  kind 
of  iron  monsters  with  a  decided  will  of  their  own, 
and  the  driver  as  a  modern  Mazeppa  bound  to 
the  back  of  an  animate  mechanical  steed,  to  be 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  117 

borne  wherever  it  might  choose  to  take  him  in 
spite  of  whatever  he  might  wish  to  the  contrary. 
Small  wonder  therefore  that  her  imagination 
jibbed  at  the  mere  idea  of  Miss  Lavender  adven- 
turing her  person  inside  one  of  these  damnable 
contrivances ! 

'  You're  never  goin'  ?  '  she  inquired  with  a 
tactlessness  which  years  of  service  with  her  mis- 
tress had  never  cured  her  of. 

'  Certainly  I  am,'  replied  Miss  Lavender 
loftily,  who,  until  the  moment  she  scented  oppo- 
sition, had  been  in  two  minds  about  accepting 
the  invitation.  Then,  after  a  moment's  pause: 

'  Why  not  ?  '  she  added  injudiciously. 

'  Why  not  !  '  exclaimed  Euphemia.  'I  should 
have  thought  you'd  more  sense  than  to  sit  there 
with  sech  a  question  upon  your  lips,  that  I 
should.  It  puts  me  out  of  patience  people 
runnin'  in  the  face  of  providence  the  way  they 
do.  I'd  as  lief  sit  on  a  boilin'  kettle  as  go  for  a 
ride  on  one  o'  them  engines  o'  destruction.' 

1  Stuff  and  nonsense,  Euphemia,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  crossly.  'A  motor  car  is  as  safe  as — 


118  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

as  an  armchair.  I  shall  enjoy  the  experience 
very  much,  I'm  quite  sure.' 

Euphemia  could  be  heard  to  mutter  something 
about '  'ardly  respectable  at  your  age  to  go  flyin' 
round  the  country  'undreds  of  miles  an  hour,' 
but  Miss  Lavender  made  no  sign  of  having 
noticed. 

*  I'll  get  you  to  take  a  note  round  to  Mr.  Tidd 
presently,  Euphemia,'  she  said;  but  here  she 
reckoned  without  her  host,  for  Euphemia  flatly 
refused  to  be  the  bearer  of  any  missive 
whatsoever. 

'  I  won't  be  party  to  it,'  she  declared  impres- 
sively. 'I'd  never  forgive  myself  if  'arm  came  to 
you  and  I'd  lifted  so  much  as  a  finger  to  bring  it 
about.' 

'  But  what  harm  can  happen  to  me,  Euphe- 
mia ?  '  asked  Miss  Lavender  impatiently. 

'  'Ow  can  I  tell  ?  '  snapped  Euphemia,  whose 
nerves  were  all  on  edge.  'Anything's  liable  to 
'appen  on  one  o'  them  infernal  machines  dealin' 
out  death  and  destruction  wherever  they  go,  not 
to  mention  dust  enough  to  choke  anybody.  Not 
only  dangerous  but  disgustin'  I  call  'em.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  119 

'  But  you  don't  mind  going  in  an  express  train, 
and  an  express  train  goes  much  faster  than  a 
motor,'  Miss  Lavender  pointed  out;  but  Euphe- 
mia  utterly  declined  to  argue  upon  that  issue. 

'  A  train's  different,'  was  all  she  would  vouch- 
safe, and  no  further  explanation  could  be  got 
out  of  her. 

'  Well,  if  you  won't  take  the  note,  I  suppose 
I  must  go  round  myself  and  tell  Mr.  Tidd  that 
I  should  like  to  go,'  said  Miss  Lavender  at  last, 
enduring  with  as  good  a  grace  as  she  could 
muster  what  it  was  evident  she  could  not  cure. 

'  At  any  rate  I  shan't  'ave  anything  on  my 
conscience,'  Euphemia  said. 

'  I'll  go  up  and  get  ready,'  went  on  Miss 
Lavender. 

1  All  right,'  said  Euphemia  distantly. 

c  Are — are  my  boots  upstairs  ?  ' 

*  I  expect  so,'  replied  Euphemia,  who  had  her- 
self taken  them  up,  as  usual,  while  Miss  Lav- 
ender was  at  her  breakfast. 

'  I  don't  think  I  need  take  an  umbrella.  It 
doesn't  look  like  rain,'  observed  Miss  Lavender, 


120  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

getting  up  and  going  to  the  window  in  a  vain 
endeavor  to  appear  quite  at  her  ease. 

c  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  say  what  it's  going  to  do/ 
was  Euphemia's  rejoinder  in  tones  of  studied 
disinterest. 

'  I  wonder  what  the  glass  is  doing,'  continued 
Miss  Lavender,  who  pinned  her  faith  to  a  very 
aged  and  out  of  repair  weather-glass  which  hung 
in  the  hall,  and  which  was  a  thorough-going  pes- 
simist, never  having  been  known  to  rise  above 
'much  rain'  even  in  a  prolonged  drought. 

*  I  wonder,'  said  Euphemia  laconically. 

Miss  Lavender,  feeling  that  nothing  was  to  be 
gained  by  prolonging  the  discussion,  retired  to 
the  fastness  of  her  bedroom  to  put  on  her  boots, 
an  operation  which  Euphemia  generally  per- 
formed for  her,  but  which  to-day  she  was  evi- 
dently to  be  left  to  do  for  herself  as  a  mark  of 
the  disgrace  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  when 
she  had  done  so  and  arrayed  herself  in  her  out- 
door things,  she  stole  downstairs  and  let  herself 
out  of  the  house  without  returning  to  the  dining- 
room. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  121 

1  I'm  not  a  child.  I'm  not  a  child,'  she  kept 
on  repeating  to  herself  as  she  went  along  the 
road.  'I  will  not  allow  Euphemia  to  treat  me 
like  a  child.'  But  all  the  same  she  could  not  help 
feeling  very  much  like  a  naughty  child  who  has 
run  away  from  her  nurse,  though  the  feeling,  in- 
stead of  inducing  her  to  alter  her  decision  about 
accepting  Mr.  Tidd's  offer  of  a  drive,  only  made 
her  the  more  determined  to  carry  out  her  inten- 
tion of  going  with  him. 

All  the  time  she  was  waiting  upon  her  mistress 
at  lunch  Euphemia  preserved  a  stony  and  osten- 
tatious silence  with  regard  to  the  great  event  of 
the  afternoon,  which  only  tended  to  aggravate 
Miss  Lavender,  who  was  burning  to  discuss  it  in 
all  its  bearings,  and  if  the  former  wept  salt  tears 
into  the  shepherd 's-pie  on  its  journey  from  the 
dining-room  to  the  kitchen,  it  was  a  secret  be- 
tween her  and  the  pie-dish,  and  did  not  in  the 
least  tend  to  diminish  her  righteous  indignation 
against  those  who  had  beguiled  her  mistress  into 
such  a  foolhardy  undertaking  as  a  drive  in  a 
motor. 


122  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Directly  she  had  cleared  away  the  remains  of 
lunch,  she  shut  the  door  of  the  kitchen  with  a 
loud  bang  which  was  intended  to  convey  the 
warning  to  Miss  Lavender  that  the  lamb  had 
better  not  labour  under  the  delusion  that  the 
time  had  arrived  when  the  leopard  was  prepared 
to  let  it  lie  down  beside  it. 

The  pip-pip  of  the  motor  horn  outside  the 
front  gate  at  three  o'clock  elicited  a  groan  of 
anguish  from  Euphemia,  but  she  made  no  at- 
tempt to  leave  the  kitchen  to  see  Miss  Lavender 
safely  out,  as  she  would  ordinarily  have  done, 
and  did  not  reply  when  her  mistress  called  out, 
'I'm  going  now,  Euphemia,  I  shall  be  in  to  tea.' 

It  was  only  when  the  front  door  slammed  to, 
and  the  whirr  of  machinery  told  her  that  the  car 
was  really  under  way  with  her  beloved  Miss 
Lavender  on  board,  that  she  came  to  her  senses 
and  tore  like  one  demented  out  of  the  kitchen 
and  into  the  front  garden,  to  catch  if  it  were  only 
a  glimpse  of  the  departure,  but  not  even  that 
was  granted  her,  for  it  was  already  out  of  sight 
and  only  a  fault  pip-pip  borne  back  upon  the 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  123 

breeze  fell  on  her  ears  to  assure  her  that  it  was 
grim  reality,  and  not  some  horrible  nightmare. 

Persephone,  borne  away  in  the  arms  of  Pluto 
to  the  nether  regions,  could  not  have  left  behind 
her  more  consternation  than  did  Miss  Lavender, 
borne  away  in  the  arms  of  the  luxurious 
Siddeley,  in  the  breast  of  poor  Euphemia,  who 
returned  disconsolately  to  the  kitchen,  a  prey  to 
every  kind  of  horror  which  her  imagination  could 
conjure  up. 

The  afternoon  dragged  its  weary  length  along, 
and  after  centuries  of  torment,  during  which 
Euphemia  knitted  innumerable  rows  of  a  gray 
woollen  stocking  which  never  got  any  longer, 
the  hands  of  the  clock  pointed  to  twenty  minutes 
past  four,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief  she  put  down 
her  work,  and,  filling  the  kettle,  set  it  on  the  fire 
to  boil,  while  she  proceeded  to  cut  some  thin 
slices  of  bread  and  butter. 

She  took  extra  pains  to  have  everything  as 
dainty  as  possible,  for  she  was  just  a  little 
ashamed  of  her  behaviour  of  the  morning,  and 
even  put  an  additional  cup  and  saucer  on  the 


124  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

tray  in  case  her  mistress  should  bring  Mr.  Tidd 
in  to  tea. 

Five  o'clock  came,  and  no  sign  of  the  return- 
ing wanderers.  Half-past  five,  and  they  were  still 
absent. 

Euphemia  became  more  and  more  frenzied 
with  each  moment  that  passed,  and  spent  her 
time  running  from  the  kitchen  to  the  front 
door  and  back  again.  When  six  o'clock  struck 
and  they  had  not  yet  returned  she  could  bear  it 
no  longer.  With  one  ear  cocked  to  catch  the 
first  sounds  of  the  motor  if  it  should  happen  to 
arrive  while  she  was  upstairs,  she  ascended  to 
her  bedroom,  and  snatching  her  hat  and  jacket 
out  of  the  cupboard  came  downstairs  again,  put- 
ting them  on  as  she  went  in  order  to  save  time. 
The  consequence  was  that  her  headgear  rested 
over  her  left  ear  in  a  manner  suggesting  scenes 
of  revelry  by  night,  while  her  jacket,  buttoned 
up  crookedly,  as  far  as  it  was  buttoned  at  all, 
hung  one  dejected  point  between  her  knees. 

She  was  not  perfectly  clear  in  her  own  mind 
what  her  object  was  in  starting  off  on  a  search 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  125 

expedition  at  this  late  hour,  especially  as  she  had 
not  the  ghost  of  an  idea  which  direction  they 
had  gone  in,  but  she  felt  that  anything  was  better 
than  sitting  at  home  knitting  gray  stockings, 
while  all  the  time  for  aught  she  knew  to  the 
contrary,  Miss  Lavender  was  being  raced  head- 
long about  the  country  in  a  motor  car  which 
refused  to  listen  to  reason. 

Caroline  Brill  was  standing  at  the  door  of  her 
cottage  as  Euphemia  came  pounding  down  the 
hill,  and  stared,  open-mouthed,  at  the  unwonted 
spectacle  of  that  usually  staid  and  decorous 
person  running. 

'  Whatever — '  she  began,  but  Euphemia,  with- 
out pausing  in  her  headlong  flight,  merely  waved 
an  arm  wildly  and  screamed  something  over 
her  shoulder  of  which  Caroline  only  caught  the 
words,  'Miss  Lavender — three  o'clock — motor 
— accident.' 

She  was  a  second  or  two  in  taking  in  the  full 
meaning  of  the  words,  but  when  she  did,  she 
very  naturally  jumped  to  an  entirely  wrong  con- 
clusion. 'Elsie,'  she  shrieked  excitedly,  'see 


126  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

to  father's  tea  if  I  ain't  in  'fore  'e  comes  back. 
Pore  Miss  Lavender's  met  with  an  accident  out 
o'  one  o'  them  nasty  motor  cars.'  Then,  without 
waiting  to  explain  further,  she  seized  up  an  old 
tweed  cap  belonging  to  her  husband,  which  for 
some  inscrutable  reason  she  generally  reserved 
for  hanging-out-the-washing  wear,  and  started 
off  in  pursuit. 

Euphemia  was  of  heavier  build  than  Caroline, 
and  though  she  had  a  fair  start,  the  latter  soon 
caught  her  up  and,  side  by  side,  they  panted 
along  in  silence. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  there  was  a  check. 
The  main  road  ran  at  right  angles  across,  and 
it  was  impossible  to  say  in  which  direction  that 
particular  Hades  lay  whither  Persephone  had 
been  carried  off. 

'  Which  way?'  asked  Caroline  eagerly,  under 
the  impression  that  Euphemia  was  personally 
conducting  her  to  the  scene  of  an  actual  and 
authenticated  accident,  and  in  consequence,  be- 
ing morbidly  anxious  to  arrive  on  the  spot  ahead 
of  her  neighbours,  if  possible. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  127 

If  Euphemia  had  had  anybody  else  as  a 
companion  but  the  despised  Caroline  she  would 
have  broken  down  at  this  juncture  and  wept. 
As  it  was,  she  would  have  died  sooner  than  let 
the  object  of  her  scorn  see  her  in  chastened 
mood,  and  since  her  overwrought  nerves  were 
denied  the  luxury  of  tears,  she  sought  an  outlet 
for  her  feelings  by  rounding  upon  her  unfortu- 
nate companion  and,  metaphorically  speaking, 
rending  her  in  pieces. 

1  If  you'd  talk  a  bit  less  and  do  more  it  might 
be  some  'elp,'  she  said  furiously. 

'  But  what  d'you  want  me  to  do?'  inquired 
Caroline,  meekly  bowing  before  the  storm. 

1  Run  and  ask,'  shouted  the  exasperated 
Euphemia,  giving  her  a  smart  push  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  village. 

Poor  Caroline,  from  sheer  nervousness,  ran 
two  or  three  steps  before  realising  that  she  not 
only  had  no  notion  of  where  she  was  to  run  to, 
but  also  had  not  the  ghost  of  an  idea  as  to  what 
it  was  she  was  to  ask  when  she  had  arrived  at  her 
unknown  destination.  That  Euphemia  wanted 


128  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

to  learn  whether  Mr.  Tidd's  car  had  been  seen 
going  through  the  village  never  so  much  as 
entered  her  head. 

She  paused  in  her  flight,  trying  to  come  to 
some  conclusion  as  to  what  was  required  of  her; 
but  'Run,'  said  an  admonitory  voice  behind  her, 
and  she  started  off  once  more  on  her  chimerical 
search,  her  elastic-sided  boots  slapping  the 
path  at  every  step  with  quite  a  vicious  sound. 
She  ran  from  side  to  side  in  much  the  same 
state  of  agitated  flurry  that  a  hen  displays  when 
overtaken  in  the  road  by  a  vehicle  of  any  sort, 
but  she  eventually  reached  the  village,  and  see- 
ing Mrs.  Critchett,  the  proprietress  of  the  'Co- 
operative Stores,'  standing  in  the  door  of  her 
shop,  made  a  bee-line  for  her. 

'  Oh,  Mrs.  Critchett!  Oh  dear!'  she  exclaimed 
directly  she  was  within  earshot.  'There's  bin  an 
accident.' 

'  You've  been  and  scalded  one  o'  the  childern,' 
said  Mrs.  Critchett  accusingly.  'I  allays  knew  it 
was  bound  to  'appen  one  o'  these  fine  days, 
pouring  water  straight  out  o'  the  kettle  into  the 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  129 

bath,  with  the  pore  little  dears  sitting  in  it  so 
trustful  and  confident.  If  you'll  give  me  'alf 
a  minute  I'll  call  to  mind  what  I  did  with  that 
sample  box  o'  ointment  I  'ad.' 

'  'Tisn't  the  children,'  Caroline  gasped ;  ' though 
well  it  might  be,  sech  little  turkeys  as  they  are, 
always  on  the  'op-scotch,  and  minding  what  I 
say  no  more  than  if  I  was  a  blot  of  stone,  and  not 
so  much.' 

'Brill's  fallen  off  a  ladder,'  Mrs.  Critchett 
suggested  next. 

'  'E  wasn't  on  one,'  said  his  wife  mournfully. 

1  What  then?'  asked  Mrs.  Critchett,  restrain- 
ing a  strong  desire  to  shake  the  information  out 
of  Caroline. 

'  It's  Miss  Lavender,'  announced  Mrs.  Brill 
with  melancholy  triumph.  'She's  bin  turned 
out  o'  that  nasty  motor  of  Mr.  Tidd's,  and  for 
all  anybody  knows  to  the  opposite  she's  lying  in 
a  ditch  with  both  'er  legs  broke  off  under  'er.' 

'  There  now.  Wasn't  I  allays  saying  some- 
body was  bound  to  get  'urt  one  o'  these  days  with 
them  'orrid  machines,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Critchett, 


130  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

dramatically  clasping  her  heart  with  both  hands. 
' Where  did  it  'appen?' 

Caroline  shook  her  head. 

'  I  couldn't  say,'  she  answered  vaguely. 

1  Couldn't  say!'  echoed  Mrs.  Critchett.  'Then 
'ow  d'you  know?'  she  demanded  suspiciously. 

1  Euphemia  come  and  fetched  me,'  replied 
Caroline,  stretching  a  point.  'She's  standing 
at  the  bottom  of  the  'ill  like  one  distorted.' 

1  Pore  dear! '  exclaimed  the  kind-hearted  shop- 
woman.  'I'll  come  to  'er  this  instant  minute.' 

'  But  what  about  the  shop?'  inquired  Caroline, 
who  did  not  altogether  relish  the  idea  of  Mrs. 
Critchett 's  company,  since  it  inevitably  meant 
her  own  relegation  to  the  background. 

'  Oh,  the  shop  must  look  after  itself,'  was  the 
hasty  reply,  as  Mrs.  Critchett  picked  up  at 
random  a  hat  lying  on  the  counter  intended  for 
sale.  'I've  not  time  to  fetch  a  bonnet,'  she 
explained. 

As  the  hat  in  question  happened  to  be  a  child's 
one  of  white  straw  with  a  wreath  of  forget-me- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  131 

nots  round  the  crown,  the  effect  can  be  better 
imagined  than  described. 

'  Whatever's  the  to-do,  ma'am?'  inquired  Mr. 
Perkins,  the  butcher,  with  pardonable  curiosity, 
as  the  two  women  lumbered  past  the  row  of 
meat  hanging  outside  his  premises. 

Mrs.  Critchett  insensibly  slackened  her  steps 
at  this  opportunity  of  imparting  a  really  exciting 
bit  of  gossip  to  her  neighbour. 

'  It's  pore  Miss  Lavender,'  she  explained  over 
her  shoulder.  'She's  bin  run  over  and  killed  by 
one  of  them  treacherous  motor  cars.' 

1  Well,  I'm  damned'  said  Mr.  Perkins. 

'  Perkins ! '  said  a  warning  voice  from  the  little 
glass-fronted  cupboard  where  Mrs.  Perkins  spent 
her  days  in  company  with  an  important-looking 
green  ledger.  A  staunch  teetotaller,  she  held 
strong  language  only  second  in  abhorrence  to 
strong  drink,  and  considered  the  two  to  be  in 
close  alliance. 

*  Sorry,  my  dear,  forgot  myself  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment,'  apologised  Mr.  Perkins. 

'  You  forgot  me,  I  should  think,'  replied  his 


132  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

wife  starchily.  'You'd  better  go  along  and  see 
if  you  can't  be  of  use,  being  accustomed  to  un- 
pleasant sights  by  reason  of  your  calling.' 

'  Certainly  I  will,  my  dear,'  said  Mr.  Perkins 
conciliatingly,  removing  his  striped  apron  and  the 
sharpener  which  hung  round  his  waist.  'Would 
you  kindly  'and  me  my  coat  out  of  the  office.' 

Mrs.  Perkins  did  as  requested  and  then,  some- 
what markedly,  pulled  down  the  little  window 
which  shut  her  off  in  splendid  isolation  from 
the  rest  of  the  shop  and  returned  to  the  study 
of  the  ledger,  plainly  intimating  that  she  took 
no  further  interest  in  the  matter,  while  her 
husband  started  off  in  pursuit  of  the  two  agitated 
females  who  were  already  half-way  back  to  the 
spot  where  Caroline  had  left  Euphemia. 

'  Me  pore  dear,  I've  'card  the  dreadful  news,' 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Critchett  commiseratingly,  as 
soon  as  she  had  recovered  her  breath  sufficiently 
to  speak,  clutching  Euphemia  by  the  arm  with 
one  hand,  and  the  white  straw  hat  on  to  her 
head  with  the  other. 

Euphemia,  supposing  from  this  greeting  that 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  133 

her  worst  fears  were  well  grounded,  and  that 
Mrs.  Critchett  had  definite  news  of  an  accident 
about  which  she  herself  was  still  in  ignorance, 
gave  vent  to  a  shriek  of  anguish.  *  Where  is 
she?  Let  me  go  to  'er,'  she  besought  wildly. 

'  D'you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  know  where 
she  is?  queried  Mrs.  Critchett,  slightly  taken 
aback. 

'  In  the  'ospital,'  sobbed  Euphemia,  who 
gathered  from  the  tone  of  her  friend's  voice 
that  she  really  knew  all  the  time,  and  was  merely 
parrying  the  question  in  order  to  break  the  news 
gently. 

'  Or  the  mortary,'  added  Caroline,  feeling 
rather  resentful  at  the  prominence  into  which 
Mrs.  Critchett  had  thrust  herself.  'I  'ad  an  aunt 
'oo  fell  out  of  one  o'  them  spring-boats  at  Black- 
heath  on  a  Bank-'oliday  and  twisted  'er  neck 
right  round  till  she  was  looking  straight  be'ind 
'er  over  'er  shoulder,  and  they  took  'er  to  the 
mortary,  though  too  late  to  save  'er  life.  Eighteen 
years  old  she  was,  and  walking  out  with  a  most 
respeckful  young  man  in  the  plumbing  line,  and 


134  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

if  only  she'd  confided  'erself  to  walking  and  not 
'ad  ambitions  of  soaring  above  the  'eads  of  the 
crowd,  she  might  be  alive  and  well  to  this  very 
day.' 

1  Allow  me  to  drive  you  over  to  Frippon  in 
the  cart,  miss,'  suggested  Mr.  Perkins,  who  had 
joined  the  group  before  this  but  who,  with  a 
proper  respect  for  the  female  tongue,  had  hitherto 
forborne  from  taking  part  in  the  conversation. 
'With  the  little  mare  between  the  shafts  I'll 
get  you  over  in  less  than  half  an  hour.' 

*  I'm  sure  I'd  be  very  much  obliged,  Mr. 
Perkins,'  said  Euphemia  gratefully,  who  on 
ordinary  occasions  would  have  died  cheerfully 
sooner  than  be  seen  driving  in  a  butcher's  cart. 

'  Not  at  all,  miss,  not  at  all,'  said  Mr.  Perkins 
genially.  'I've  supplied  your  lady  with  too  many 
joints  in  the  past  not  to  be  proud  and  glad  to 
supply  'er  with  what  'elp  I  can  now  she's  in 
extremes,  as  the  saying  is.  I'll  pop  up  and  'arness 
the  little  mare  and  be  back  again  before  you've 
'ad  time  to  miss  me.' 

'  Ah,  Mr.  Perkins,  it's  trouble  that  brings  out 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  135 

the  milk  of  'uman  kindness  when  all's  said  and 
done,'  observed  Mrs.  Critchett  sententiously. 
'I'll  wait  'ere  with  the  pore  dear  till  you  return. 
There  ain't  no  need  for  you  to  stay  unless  you 
care,  Mrs.  Brill,'  she  went  on,  turning  to  Caroline 
as  Mr.  Perkins  hurried  off  on  his  errand.  'I 
dessay  Brill's  waiting  'is  tea,  and  I  know  what  a 
man's  like  when  'is  stomach  is  crossed.' 

'  Thank  you  kindly  for  your  thoughtfulness, 
Mrs.  Critchett,'  said  Caroline  with  a  stately 
inclination  of  the  head,  the  effect  of  which  was 
rather  marred  by  the  tweed  cap  falling  off  and 
having  to  be  retrieved.  'My  daughter  is  quite 
culpable  of  getting  'er  father's  tea,  and  seeing 
Euphemia  specially  invited  me  to  be  present. 
I  could  'ardly  desert  the  pore  dear  in  'er 
affliction.' 

Meanwhile  Miss  Lavender,  bowling  swiftly 
along  in  the  direction  of  home,  after  a  very 
pleasant  tea  at  a  farmhouse  some  miles  the  other 
side  of  little  Frippon,  was  thoroughly  enjoying 
herself. 

'  Euphemia  will  have  guessed  we  stopped  some- 


136  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

where  for  tea,'  she  was  saying  complacently  to 
Mr.  Tidd,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  the  true  state 
of  Euphemia's  feelings. 

'  Enjoyed  your  drive?'  inquired  Mr.  Tidd 
kindly. 

'  Oh  yes.  So  much.  It's  been  such  a  novel 
experience/  Miss  Lavender  replied  flutteringly. 
She  paused;  then,  with  the  precision  of  a  small 
girl  bidding  her  hostess  good-by  at  a  children's 
party,  added  shyly,  'Thank  you  very  much  for 
asking  me.' 

Mr.  Tidd  looked  down  at  her  with  rather  an 
amused  twinkle  in  his  eyes.  'There's  a  polite 
little  girl,'  he  said  quizzingly. 

Miss  Lavender  drew  herself  up  with  an  absurd 
air  of  offended  dignity  which  sat  ill  upon  her 
homely  little  person.  In  the  inmost  recesses  of 
her  being  she  could  not  help  a  certain  feeling  of 
gratification  at  the  very  familiarity  of  the  speech, 
but  it  would  never  do  to  let  it  pass  without  a 
protest. 

'  Really,  Mr.  Tidd,'  she  forced  herself  to  say, 
and  when  the  protest  had  been  made,  blushed 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  137 

hotly,  a  horrible  suspicion  suddenly  springing 
to  birth  in  her  mind  that  perhaps  after  all  she 
was  behaving  like  a  prudish  schoolgirl.  'I'm  an 
old  woman/  she  added  excusingly. 

'  Are  you?  I  don't  know.  I  can  never  get 
out  of  my  mind,  somehow,  that  you  were  born  to 
be  looked  after  and  protected.  Perhaps  that's 
why  you  always  seem  young  to  me,'  Mr.  Tidd 
said  musingly. 

*  I'm  nearly  sixty,'  said  Miss  Lavender  a  little 
regretfully,  and  instantly  wondered  what  had 
prompted  her  to  tell  him  her  age. 

*  Pooh!    What  are  years?'  Mr.  Tidd  said  con- 
temptuously. 'I've  known  children  of  eighty  and 
upwards,  and  old  men  and  women  still  in  their 
teens.' 

'  I  don't  think  I've  ever  been  very  different  to 
what  I  am  now/  Miss  Lavender  confessed.  'I 
suppose  I  was  always  old.' 

'Or  always  young/  amended  Mr.  Tidd.  '  'Ullo, 
what's  the  excitement?' 

They  had  come  within  sight  of  the  turning  up 


138  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

to  Starr  Cross,  and  a  knot  of  people,  one  of 
whom  was  Euphemia,  was  plainly  visible. 

Miss  Lavender  caught  hold  of  him  by  the 
arm,  nearly  causing  him  to  lose  control  of  the 
wheel. 

'  Something's  happened,'  she  cried.  'The 
house  is  burnt  down.  I  always  knew  it  would 
be  one  of  these  days.' 

'  Steady,  steady,'  said  Mr.  Tidd  soothingly. 
'Don't  go  meeting  trouble  half-way.  We'll  see 
what  it  is  in  a  minute.' 

The  car  stopped  just  in  front  of  the  little 
group,  and  Euphemia,  detaching  herself  from  it, 
ran  forward  with  an  hysterical  sob. 

'  Thank  God  you've  got  back,'  she  said. 

'  Have  you  sent  for  the  fire-engine?'  Miss 
Lavender  inquired  anxiously. 

Euphemia  stared  stupidly. 

'  The  what?'  she  asked. 

*  The  fire-engine,'  repeated  Miss  Lavender 
with  feverish  haste.  'Don't  tell  me  you've  done 
absolutely  nothing.  How  did  it  happen?  When 
did  it  begin?  Oh,  for  goodness'  sake,  Euphemia, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  139 

don't  stand  there  with  your  mouth  open  saying 
nothing.  Can't  anybody  speak?' 

Mrs.  Critchett  stepped  forward  majestically, 
the  juvenile,  forget-me-not  trimmed  hat  on  the 
back  of  her  head,  a  look  of  stern  disapproval  on 
her  usually  good-natured  face. 

'  Euphemia  got  into  'er  'ead  that  you'd  met 
with  an  upset,'  she  said  in  dignified  accents. 
'I'm  sorry  we've  assembled  'ere  under  a  mis- 
appre'ension.' 

1  You  did  say  you'd  be  back  to  tea,  and  the 
kettle  was  boilin'  and  all,  and  you  never  came, 
and  I  thought  —  I  thought  — '  but  here  Eu- 
phemia's  feelings  got  the  better  of  her  and,  not 
caring  who  saw  her,  she  broke  down  and  wept. 
'And  I  'adn't  even  come  out  to  see  the  last  of 
you,'  she  sobbed. 

1  It's  my  fault,  Euphemia,'  said  Mr.  Tidd, 
leaning  forward  and  addressing  her  across  Miss 
Lavender.  'I  didn't  think  you'd  be  getting 
anxious.' 

'  And  it  was  so  lovely  out,  Euphemia,'  added 
Miss  Lavender  apologetically. 


140  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  Look  here,  pop  in  behind  and  I'll  have  you 
home  before  you  can  say  knife/  suggested  Mr. 
Tidd,  seeking  to  recompense  her  for  her  woes, 
but  Euphemia  only  drew  back  shudderingly. 

'  No  thank  you,  sir,'  she  said,  with  a  swift 
glance  of  aversion  at  the  car.  'I've  lived 
through  too  many  imaginary  accidents  this 
afternoon  to  risk  a  real  one.  I  may  be  'ome 
before  you  yet.' 

Mrs.  Critchett  and  Caroline,  left  alone  to- 
gether on  the  pathway,  looked  at  one  another 
blankly. 

'  I  shouldn't  'ave  thought  it  of  Euphemia,' 
said  the  former,  shaking  an  incredulous  head. 
'Whatever  induced  'er  to  carry  on  that  way?' 

'  She's  a  more  feeling  'eart  than  you'd  give  'er 
credit  for  to  look  at,'  Caroline  said  handsomely. 

'  But  there's  no  call  to  feel  what  ain't  'ap- 
pened,'  Mrs.  Critchett  said,  a  trifle  indignantly. 
Not  only  had  she  been  balked  of  a  sensation,  but 
she  had  been  made  to  look  a  fool  into  the  bargain. 

'It  was  all  the  same  to  'er  as  if  it  'ad  'appened. 
That  comes  of  'aving  an  imaginary  mind,'  ex- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  141 

plained  Caroline.  'I'll  say  good  evening  to  you, 
Mrs.  Critchett.  My  'usbent's  waiting  'is  tea,  if 
'e  'asn't  already  'ad  it.' 

Saying  which  she  departed  hastily  just  in  time 
to  escape  the  return  of  Mr.  Perkins  with  'the 
little  mare,'  thus  avoiding  the  awkwardness  of 
telling  him  that  the  cart  would  not  now  be 
required  to  take  Euphemia  to  Miss  Lavender's 
death-bed. 


CHAPTER  X 

Miss  LAVENDER  and  Euphemia  had  both  come 
downstairs  with  the  edges  of  their  tempers  a  little 
frayed:  the  former,  because  she  had  received 
by  that  morning's  post  an  invitation  to  Bobbie's 
wedding;  the  latter,  because  she  was  suffering 
from  what  she  termed  'my  indigestion.' 

'  As  if  I  should  dream  of  going  to  see  that 
creature  married,'  Miss  Lavender  exclaimed, 
slapping  the  offending  document  down  on  the 
table,  on  which  Euphemia  had  already  placed  the 
Bible  from  which  her  mistress  was  accustomed 
to  read  a  few  verses  each  morning  before  family 
prayers.  'If  she  was  being  buried,  I  might  go 
—  and  enjoy  myself!'  she  added  viciously. 

*  I'm  surprised  to  'ear  you  talk  so,  and  you 
just  about  to  read  a  chapter,'  said  Euphemia 
reprovingly.  Any  bodily  ailment  always  lifted 
her  up  to  hitherto  unsuspected  heights  of  virtue. 
There's  worse  things  to  put  up  with  than  losin' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  143 

friends  by  marriage,  and  that's  losin'  'em  by 
death,  and  it  ain't  the  thing  to  make  a  joke 
upon.' 

Miss  Lavender  wriggled  her  shoulders  im- 
patiently. She  had  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  the 
observation  herself  and,  if  she  had  not  been 
forestalled,  had  meant  to  recant,  but  Euphemia's 
rebuke  had  only  had  the  effect  of  hardening  her 
heart. 

'  You'd  hardly  expect  me  to  sit  down  and 
cry  about  it,  I  suppose?'  she  said  tartly. 

Euphemia's  only  reply  was  to  get  up  from  the 
chair  on  which  she  was  sitting,  waiting  for  the 
reading  to  commence,  and  walking  solemnly  to 
the  table  to  pick  up  the  Bible  and  return  it  to 
the  bookshelf. 

'  You  ain't  in  the  right  mood  for  reading' 
she  remarked  dispassionately.  'And  I  don't 
know  as  I'm  in  the  right  mood  to  hear,  for  I 
can't  attend  to  anythin'  with  this  gnawin'  pain 
inside  me.' 

'  Really,  Euphemia! '  protested  Miss  Lavender, 
completely  taken  aback  by  this  unexpected  move. 


144  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'I  think  it  is  for  me  to  judge  whether  I  am  in 
the  right  mood  or  not.' 

Euphemia  brought  the  Bible  once  more  back 
to  the  table. 

'  Then  you  can  read  to  yourself,'  she  said.  'I 
ain't  goin'  to  stop  and  listen,  that's  flat.' 

'  I  think  you  had  better  see  Dr.  Cruickshank,' 
said  Miss  Lavender  severely. 

She  used  the  threat  much  as  a  parent  threatens 
a  dose  of  medicine  to  a  fractious  child,  but,  to 
her  intense  surprise,  Euphemia  fell  in  with  the 
suggestion  quite  readily. 

'  I  think  so  too,'  she  agreed.  'I'll  go  down 
after  breakfast.  'E's  at  the  surgery  till  ten.' 

'  You  aren't  really  feeling  ill,  are  you?'  asked 
Miss  Lavender. 

'  Well,  I  ain't  goin'  to  inquire  after  'is  'ealth, 
you  may  be  quite  sure,'  was  the  sole  response, 
and  not  another  word  could  be  got  out  of 
Euphemia  on  the  subject  of  her  distemper. 

As  soon  as  she  had  cleared  away  the  breakfast 
things,  she  went  upstairs  and  arrayed  herself  in 
her  best  clothes,  preparatory  to  her  forthcoming 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  145 

visit  to  the  doctor's,  and  before  she  started,  put 
her  head  in  at  the  dining-room  door. 

1  I'm  just  off,'  she  announced.  'I  shan't  be 
gone  long;  not  more'n  'arf  an  hour,  I  don't 
suppose.' 

'  I'm  quite  able  to  take  care  of  myself,  thank 
you,  Euphemia,'  replied  Miss  Lavender,  a  trifle 
distantly.  She  had  not  altogether  recovered 
from  the  fracas  of  before  breakfast. 

Directly  she  heard  the  front  door  shut,  Miss 
Lavender  went  into  the  drawing-room,  as  was 
her  wont,  and  getting  a  silk  handkerchief  out  of 
a  drawer,  set  to  work  to  dust  the  various  orna- 
ments scattered  about,  and  when  that  was  done, 
remembered  that  it  was  Friday,  the  day  ap- 
pointed for  cleaning  the  knick-knacks  on  the 
silver  table,  so,  fetching  the  necessary  imple- 
ments from  the  pantry,  she  drew  a  chair  up  to 
the  table  and,  with  a  duster  spread  over  her 
knees,  polished  away  for  dear  life,  forgetting  in 
the  absorbing  task  that  the  day  had  started  awry. 

So  engrossed  was  she  that  she  never  noticed 
how  the  time  was  slipping  away,  until  the  clock 


146  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

on  the  mantelpiece  struck  eleven,  causing  her 
to  stop  short  in  her  work  and  wonder  why 
Euphemia  had  not  returned. 

'  She's  a  very  long  time/  she  thought.  'Dr. 
Cruickshank  starts  on  his  rounds  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  she  can't  possibly  take  an  hour  getting  back. 
What  can  have  happened  to  her,  I  wonder. 
She  surely  can't  have  come  in  without  my 
noticing?' 

She  laid  down  the  things  she  had  in  her  hand 
and  trotted  off  to  the  kitchen  to  investigate,  but 
the  back  regions  were  deserted,  and  she  had 
barely  reached  the  drawing-room  again,  when 
she  heard  the  gate  click  and  Euphemia's  step  on 
the  path. 

'  Here  she  is  at  last,'  she  said  to  herself.  Then 
added,  'But  how  slowly  she's  walking!' 

The  front  door  opened  and  shut  again  and  she 
waited  expectantly,  for  she  felt  sure  Euphemia 
would  come  and  tell  her  what  Dr.  Cruickshank 
had  said,  but  to  her  astonishment,  nothing 
happened,  nor  could  she  hear  any  sound  in  the 
hall.  She  began  to  get  a  little  nervous.  Some 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  147 

one  had  certainly  entered  the  house,  and  if  not 
Euphemia,  who  was  it? 

'  Euphemia,'  she  called  out. 

Heavy  footsteps  advanced  up  the  passage 
and  stopped  outside  the  door,  as  if  hesitating  to 
proceed  any  further,  but  after  a  pause  which 
seemed  at  least  five  minutes,  but  which  was 
probably  not  as  many  seconds,  the  handle  was 
turned  and  Euphemia  came  into  the  room,  look- 
ing so  strangely  unlike  herself  that  Miss  Lavender 
exclaimed  aloud  at  the  sight  of  her.  Her  face  was 
the  colour  of  putty  save  where,  on  either  cheek, 
a  splotch  of  red,  about  the  size  of  a  florin,  stood 
out  vividly  against  the  ashen-gray  of  her  com- 
plexion, and  she  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 

'  Oh!  Whatever  is  the  matter?  Whatever 
is  it,  Euphemia?'  Miss  Lavender  cried  out, 
startled  by  the  strangeness  of  her  appearance. 

Euphemia  swallowed  down  something  in  her 
throat. 

1  I've  seen  Dr.  Cruickshank.' 

'Yes?' 

*  I've  seen  Dr.   Cruickshank,'  she   repeated 


148  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

dully.  '  'E  says  —  '  She  stopped  as  though 
she  were  a  child  who  had  been  entrusted  with  a 
message  and  had  forgotten  it. 

'  Well?'  Then,  as  a  hideous  doubt  came  to 
her,  'It's  nothing  serious.' 

Miss  Lavender  had  risen  to  her  feet,  knocking 
on  to  the  floor,  as  she  did  so,  some  of  the  silly 
little  silver  trinkets  which  lay  on  the  table  at  her 
elbow.  She  made  no  attempt  to  pick  them  up, 
but  stood  there  staring  at  Euphemia,  trying  to 
read  in  her  averted  face  the  truth  she  dreaded. 

'  Euphemia,'  she  said  sharply,  striving  to  recall 
her  to  herself,  and  at  the  peremptory  tones, 
Euphemia  with  an  effort  raised  her  eyes  to  her 
mistress's  face  and  jerked  her  head  forward. 

*  'E's  comin'  to  see  me  again  this  afternoon, 
and  goin'  to  bring  Mr.  Guy,  the  surgeon  from 
Little  Frippon,  with  'im.  'E's  afraid  it  means  an 
operation,'  she  said  with  mechanical  precision. 

The  two  women  stared  at  one  another  for  some 
minutes  in  silence,  and  into  Miss  Lavender's 
eyes  crept  a  reflection  of  the  terror  in  Euphe- 
mia's.  It  was  the  latter  who  spoke  first. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  149 

'  I  could  'ave  stood  an  illness;  I  could  'ave 
stood  bein'  in  bed  and  'avin'  to  be  fussed  over 
and  nursed,  but  an  operation!  That  takes  all 
the  courage  out  of  me.  Why  can't  they  let  me 
die  in  peace,  without  that?'  She  stretched  out 
a  pair  of  trembling  old  hands  to  her  mistress  as 
though  demanding  a  reply,  and  with  a  supreme 
effort  Miss  Lavender  pulled  herself  together 
and  heroically  rose  to  the  occasion. 

'Who's  talking  of  dying?'  she  said,  with  a 
lightness  she  was  far  from  feeling.  'Don't  be  so 
conceited,  Euphemia.  Plenty  of  people  have 
operations  without  dying,  so  why  you  should 
think  yourself  singled  out  for  it,  I  don't  know. 
I  call  it  downright  egotism.' 

Euphemia  smiled  forlornly. 

*  'E  took  me  so  aback.  I  s'pose  that's  what  it 
is.  I  never  thought  but  what  it  was  nothin' 
more  than  indigestion.  There!  I  'aven't  time  to 
waste  thinkin'  about  what  mayn't  never  'appen,' 

She  untied  her  bonnet  strings  and  threw  them 
back  over  her  shoulders,  then  looked  curiously 
round  the  room. 


ISO  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  It's  queer  'ow  different  things  can  look, 
when  you  feel  different  yourself,  ain't  it!' 

'  I'm  sorry  I  was  cross  this  morning,  Euphemia.' 

c  That's  all  right,  my  dear.  That  sofa  cushion's 
torn.  I'll  bring  a  needle  and  thread,  and  mend 
it  when  I  'ave  a  spare  five  minutes.' 

It  was  pitiful  to  notice  how  she  fell  back  upon 
the  everyday  triviality,  as  though  trying  to 
resume  her  normal  position  and  prevent  her 
mind  dwelling  on  graver  issues.  If,  against  her 
will,  she  was  forced  to  take  a  place  in  the  front 
row  of  the  chorus,  she  would,  at  least,  steer  clear 
of  the  limelight! 

'  You  must  rest  this  morning.  I'll  send  down 
and  see  if  Caroline  can  come  up.'  But  this 
Euphemia  jibbed  at. 

'  I  did  my  work  yesterday  when  I  didn't  know, 
so  I  reckon  I  can  do  it  to-day  when  I  do,'  she 
said  with  something  of  her  old  spirit. 

1  I'm  sure  you  oughtn't  to.' 

'  I  couldn't  sit  down,  with  my  'ands  folded  in 
my  lap,  and  watch  that  Caroline  do  everything 
different  to  my  methods.  It  'ud  drive  me  crazy.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  151 

She  turned  and  went  out  of  the  room  before 
Miss  Lavender  could  say  anything  more,  leav- 
ing the  latter  standing  there  trying  to  realise  the 
situation.  It  was  so  many  years  since  Euphemia 
had  spent  even  a  day  in  bed,  that  it  was  well- 
nigh  impossible  to  imagine  her  laid  up.  By 
lunch-time  she  had  worked  herself  up  into  such 
a  state  of  nervous  apprehension  that  Euphemia, 
who  had  recovered  from  her  agitation  and  was 
almost  her  old  self  again,  had  to  turn  comforter. 

'  I  dessay  I've  made  it  out  worse  than  it  is,' 
she  said  consolingly.  'Dr.  Cruickshank's  a  nice 
enough  little  man,  but  'e  can't  see  what's  'appen- 
in'  inside  of  one,  'owever  anxious  to  do  so  'e 
may  be.  I  shouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  Mr. 
Guy  didn't  give  'im  a  piece  of  'is  mind  for  fetch- 
in'  'im  over  for  no  thin'.' 

When  Mr.  Guy  did  come,  however,  and  he 
and  Dr.  Cruickshank  had  thoroughly  overhauled 
Euphemia,  he  came  down  looking  so  grave  that 
Miss  Lavender's  heart  sank. 

1  One  can  never  quite  say  for  certain,'  he  re- 
plied, in  answer  to  her  anxious  inquiries  as  to  the 


152  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

result  of  the  operation  which  he  declared  must 
be  performed  without  delay. 

'  But  Euphemia  has  always  been  so  strong,' 
she  urged,  as  though  pleading  'extenuating 
circumstances.' 

1  She's  no  longer  a  young  woman,'  was  the 
only  reply  the  surgeon  would  vouchsafe. 

Miss  Lavender  wished  the  operation  to  take 
place  in  her  house,  but  the  doctors  were  strongly 
opposed  to  this  plan,  pointing  out  how  it  was 
to  the  patient's  own  interests  to  be  moved  to 
the  Cottage  Hospital  at  Little  Frippon,  where 
all  the  appliances  for  nursing  were  ready  at 
hand,  and  when  Euphemia  herself  added  her 
voice  in  favour  of  the  alternative,  she  reluctantly 
consented. 

It  was  settled  that  Euphemia  should  be  driven 
over  to  the  hospital  the  following  afternoon, 
and  then  the  vital  question  arose  as  to  Miss 
Lavender's  welfare  during  her  absence. 

Euphemia  was  anxious  that  a  girl  should  be 
obtained  through  the  medium  of  a  registry  office, 
but  this  Miss  Lavender  steadily  declined. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  153 

1  A  little  hussy  with  streamers  to  her  cap, 
who  has  the  butcher  boy  to  tea  in  the  kitchen, 
and  no  more  manners  than  a  Red  Indian!  I 
shan't  dream  of  it.  I'll  have  Caroline  Brill,  if 
I  must  have  anybody,  though  I'm  perfectly 
capable  of  managing  by  myself.' 

'  She  can't  look  after  the  house,  let  alone  you,' 
objected  Euphemia,  ignoring  the  last  part  of 
Miss  Lavender's  statement. 

'  I  shall  order  Caroline  this  afternoon,  to  come 
in  to-morrow,'  said  Miss  Lavender  resolutely, 
rather  as  though  Mrs.  Brill  were  a  ton  of  coals, 
and  Euphemia,  who  knew  that  there  was  a  time 
to  speak  and  a  time  to  keep  silence,  let  the 
matter  drop. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Miss  LAVENDER  woke  up  next  morning  with  a 
vague  sense  of  something  disagreeable  about  to 
happen,  though  what  it  might  be  she  could  not 
at  first  recollect,  until  her  eyes  fell  upon  Euphe- 
mia  standing  by  her  bedside.  Then  she 
remembered. 

In  the  background  hovered  a  second  figure, 
half-hidden  by  Euphemia's  ample  form,  bearing 
in  its  hands  a  tray. 

Miss  Lavender  blinked  and  rubbed  her  eyes, 
and,  as  the  figure  still  remained,  drew  up  the 
bed-clothes  round  her  neck. 

*  Who  is  that  ?  '  she  demanded. 

*  It's    just    Caroline,'    explained    Euphemia 
easily.  'I  sent  for  'er  to  come  first  thing.  If  she's 
goin'  to  do  for  you  the  next  few  weeks,  she'd 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  155 

better  learn  'er  duties  from  the  start.  Put  the 
tray  down  'ere,  Caroline.' 

Thus  adjured,  Caroline,  looking  a  melancholy 
object  in  a  print  dress  of  Euphemia's,  a  great 
deal  too  large  for  her,  with  a  small  cap  perched 
on  the  top  of  her  head,  advanced,  and  deposited 
the  tray  on  the  table  beside  the  bed,  making  a 
futile  endeavour,  as  she  did  so,  to  drop  a  curtsy, 
the  result  of  the  combined  effort  being  that  she 
overturned  the  milk  jug,  the  contents  of  which 
poured  out  on  the  tray. 

'  Teh,  tch,  tch,'  she  clicked,  darting  an  abject 
glance  at  her  taskmaster,  who  scowled  back. 

'  If  ever  I  did  !  '  exclaimed  that  irate  body, 
throwing  her  hands  up  in  a  mute  appeal  to 
heaven. 

'  Seems  as  though  it  must  be  top  'eavy,'  said 
the  miserable  Caroline,  vainly  attempting  to 
repair  the  damage  by  mopping  up  the  spilt  milk 
with  a  very  dirty  handkerchief,  which  she  after- 
wards wrung  out  into  the  cup. 

1  As  if  I  'adn't  enough  to  bear  without  you! 
'Ere,  give  me  the  tray.' 


156  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Euphemia  snatched  it  away  from  Caroline's 
ministrations  and  stalked  out,  leaving  her 
planted  there. 

'  You  had  better  get  my  bath  water,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  at  last,  uncomfortably  aware  that 
Caroline's  gaze  was  riveted  upon  the  little  bald 
patch  on  the  top  of  her  head,  which,  in  the  day- 
time, was  concealed  from  view  by  a  black  velvet 
bow. 

*  Bath  water  ?  '  repeated  Caroline  vaguely,  as 
though  it  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing. 

'  Yes.  Bath  water,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
sharply. 

'  Bath  water,'  repeated  Caroline  once  more, 
walking  across  to  the  washstand  and  looking 
feebly  around. 

1  Not  there,'  said  Miss  Lavender.  cln  the 
housemaid's  closet.' 

Caroline  tilted  towards  the  door  and  dis- 
appeared, only  to  shove  her  head  in  again  the 
next  minute. 

'  Where  was  it  you  said  ?  '  she  inquired. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  157 

*  Never  mind;  Euphemia  will  get  it.' 

'  I  don't  mind  if  you'll  tell  me  where.' 

'  The  —  housemaid's  —  closet,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  slowly,  dwelling  on  each  word,  in 
order  that  it  might  sink  into  Caroline's  thick 
brain.  'Where — the — brooms — and — cans — are 
kept.' 

1  I'll  try  and  find  it,'  Caroline  made  reply, 
though  as  one  without  hope. 

At  this  juncture,  happily,  Euphemia  arrived 
upon  the  scene  with  a  clean  tray. 

*  Take  Caroline  to  the  housemaid's  closet,  and 
show  her  the  hot- water  tap,'  commanded  Miss 
Lavender,  rather  as  if  the  housemaid's  closet 
was  a  museum,  and  the  hot-water  tap  an  exhibit 
under  a  glass  case. 

1  I've  got  your  can  outside  the  door,'  volun- 
teered Euphemia.  'Caroline  only  wants  to  bring 
it  in.' 

Whether  Caroline  wanted  to  or  not,  she  did 
not  dare  disobey,  and  presently  staggered  in 
under  the  weight  of  a  large  can,  which  she 
lumped  on  to  the  carpet  with  such  vehemence 


158  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

that  part  of  its  contents  ran  over  the  edge  and 
formed  a  pool  at  her  feet. 

1  The  bath's  against  the  wall  yonder,'  said 
Euphemia,  nodding  in  its  direction. 

Caroline  gazed  at  it  with  an  air  of  interest, 
but  apparently  decided  to  take  no  further  steps 
in  the  matter,  for  she  continued  to  stand  where 
she  was,  and  made  no  movement  either  to  fetch 
the  bath  or  remove  herself  out  of  the  stream  of 
water  flowing  round  her  prunellas. 

'  See  if  it'll  come  if  you  whistle,'  suggested 
Euphemia  in  exasperation. 

'  D'you  want  it  out  of  there  ?  '  asked  Caroline 
in  mild  surprise. 

Miss  Lavender,  listening  to  the  foregoing 
dialogue  from  the  shelter  of  the  bed-clothes, 
marvelled.  Here  was  no  new,  chastened  Euphe- 
mia, as  she  had  half  expected,  but  the  same  old 
one,  with  the  same  sarcasms,  the  same  dry 
humour,  the  same  impatience  at  poor  Caroline's 
shortcomings.  She  had  not  grasped  the  fact  that 
self,  like  water,  finds  its  own  level. 

She  said  as  much  when  Caroline,  harried  out 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  159 

of  the  room  by  Euphemia  to  start  preparing 
breakfast,  left  them  alone  together. 

Euphemia,  who  was  employed  in  removing 
the  traces  of  the  havoc  wrought  by  Caroline, 
looked  up  and  gave  a  short  laugh. 

'  I  suppose  you  think  I  ought  to  be  down  on 
my  knees  prayin'  instead  of  wipin'  up  water,'  she 
said.  'Well,  p'raps  I  ought,  but  that  ain't  my 
way.  I've  'ad  to  work  'ard  all  my  life,  and  get 
my  prayin'  in  when  I  could,  and  it  seems  to  me 
as  the  Almighty'll  take  reckonin'  o'  that  when 
it  comes  to  the  Day  of  Judgment,  so  long  as  the 
work's  been  honest.  I've  no  patience  with  folks 
who  talk  as  if  the  Lord  didn't  know  anythin' 
about  the  work  which  'E  created.  Don't  it  say, 
"In  the  sweat  of  thy  brow  thou  shalt  eat 
bread  "  ?  Not  as  I'm  one  as  perspires  freely 
though,'  she  concluded  rather  regretfully. 

1  But  there  was  Martha,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
anxiously.  'You  remember  about  Martha  ?  ' 

1  There  was  Martha  certainly,'  Euphemia 
conceded  grudgingly,  but  in  a  minute  she 
brightened  up. 


160  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  But  then,'  she  added,  'she  fussed  over  'er 
work  after  it  was  done,  and  kept  on  thinkin' 
'ow  she  might  a'  done  it  better,  I  dessay,  and  if 
she'd  done  'er  best  at  the  start-off,  she  couldn't 
do  no  more,  and  was  just  wastin'  'er  time.' 

This  novel  reading  of  Martha's  character 
somewhat  startled  Miss  Lavender. 

'  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,'  she  said. 

'  Ah!  People  don't  think  as  much  as  they 
ought,'  rejoined  Euphemia.  'I've  generally  got 
a  thought  like  that  in  the  back  of  my  mind,  to 
bring  out  when  I'm  brushin'  the  stairs.' 

'  Why  when  you  are  brushing  the  stairs  ?  ' 
inquired  Miss  Lavender  wonderingly. 

'  Because  if  there's  one  bit  o'  work  I'm 
tempted  to  scamp  more  than  another  it's  that, 
so  I  says  to  myself,  "Now  directly  you've  done 
the  last  stair,  you'll  'ave  to  put  that  thought 
(whatever  it  may  'appen  to  be)  away,"  so  when 
it's  some  thin'  I  want  to  get  'old  of,  I  keep  on 
brushin'  till  I've  fixed  it  to  my  fancy.' 

But  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Euphemia  put 
such  a  good  face  on  the  matter,  it  was  a  trying 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  161 

moment  when  half-past  two  came,  and  the  fly 
stood  at  the  door  waiting  to  carry  her  off  to  the 
hospital. 

In  front  of  the  glass,  in  the  little  bedroom  over 
the  kitchen  which  had  sheltered  her  for  so  many 
years,  she  tied  the  strings  of  her  Sunday  bonnet 
with  fingers  that  trembled  stupidly,  and  when 
she  was  quite  ready  and  there  was  no  longer  any 
excuse  for  delay,  she  took  a  last  look  round  at  all 
the  familiar  objects — the  truckle  bed;  the 
painted  washstand  with  its  set  of  chipped 
crockery;  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  gleaned  for 
the  most  part  from  Christmas  Numbers,  and 
fastened  up  with  tacks;  the  white  mug  on  the 
mantelpiece,  with  a  view  of  the  chain  pier  at 
Brighton,  which  Miss  Lavender  had  brought 
her  back  after  a  visit  she  had  paid  there  some- 
thing like  thirty  years  ago — and  bravely 
swallowed  down  the  lump  which  rose  in  her 
throat  as  she  bade  each  and  all  a  mute  farewell, 
walked  resolutely  to  the  door  and,  opening  it, 
passed  out,  without  so  much  as  a  single  glance 
backward. 


162  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

In  the  hall  Miss  Lavender  was  waiting, 
dreading  the  leave-taking,  yet  feverishly  anxious 
to  get  it  over  and  done  with,  while  at  the  end 
of  the  passage  leading  to  the  kitchen  hovered 
Caroline,  prepared,  at  the  first  available  oppor- 
tunity, to  give  utterance  to  her  feelings  in  the 
manner  usual  to  her  class. 

The  tin  box  containing  a  great  deal  of  un- 
necessary raiment  was  already  outside  the  fly, 
and  the  driver  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  door, 
as  if  hinting  that  it  was  time  to  be  off;  at  the 
gate,  a  small  crowd,  consisting  of  two  diminutive 
boys  and  a  baby  in  a  perambulator,  blocked 
the  path  in  a  state  of  subdued  expectancy, 
taking  their  chance,  as  it  were,  of  being  the  wit- 
nesses of  some  enthralling  scene. 

Euphemia,  at  the  bend  of  the  stairs,  paused 
impressively.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
dimly  realised  how  intoxicating  limelight  can  be, 
and  what  it  means  to  be  the  central  figure  of 
a  drama. 

She  descended  the  rest  of  the  way  with  a 
slightly  overdone  air  of  nonchalance,  paying 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  163 

minute  care  to  the  buttoning  of  her  gloves,  as 
though  that  was  the  only  thing  that  really 
mattered;  but  when  she  reached  the  spot  where 
Miss  Lavender  was  standing,  she  forgot  every- 
thing save  that  she  was  parting  from  the  mis- 
tress who  had  dominated  her  every  thought  and 
deed  since  first,  as  a  girl,  she  had  entered  the 
house  which  she  was  now  leaving,  perhaps  for 
the  last  time. 

The  poor  little  lady's  composure  had  entirely 
given  way  and  the  tears  were  streaming  down 
her  face.  Both  women,  though  they  dared  not 
put  it  into  words,  had  an  intuition  that  the 
moment  had  been  reached  when  the  quiet  back- 
water down  which  they  had  glided  side  by  side 
must  be  exchanged  for  the  swift-flowing  current 
of  the  river  whose  outlet  is  the  sea,  and  the 
prospect  filled  them  with  nameless  terrors. 

With  a  gallant  effort  Euphemia  screwed  her 
trembling  lips  into  a  smile. 

1  Now,  my  dear,'  she  said,  as  a  nurse  might 
talk  to  a  troubled  child,  Til  be  back  again  almost 
before  you  know  I'm  gone.  Don't  you  get 


164  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

fretting  else  I  shall  fret  too.  Caroline '11  take 
care  of  you  while  I'm  away.' 

Even  when  mentioning  Caroline  she  managed 
to  infuse  some  warmth  into  her  voice.  Not  for 
worlds  would  she  have  left  Miss  Lavender  with 
any  doubts  of  the  future  to  worry  or  perplex  her. 
Everything,  at  this  moment  of  parting,  must  be 
made  to  appear  rosy  and  bright. 

'  Oh,  Euphemia!  Whatever  shall  I  do  without 
you?  You  will  come  back,  won't  you?  You  -will 
come  back  ?  '  she  sobbed,  as  though  with  Euphe- 
mia lay  the  power  of  choice. 

'  Eh,  I'll  come  back,  my  lamb,  never  fear,'  said 
Euphemia  bravely,  and  somehow  the  endear- 
ment did  not  sound  in  the  least  silly  or  out  of 
place. 

For  the  time  they  ceased  to  be  mistress  and 
maid,  and  became  simply  two  old  women  who, 
after  years  of  trudging  together  along  the  road- 
way of  life,  were  being  separated,  possibly  never 
to  meet  again. 

For  an  instant  Euphemia  bent  and,  folding  the 
other  in  her  arms,  held  her  very  tightly,  as 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  165 

though  she  were  trying  to  shield  her  from  some 
unseen  foe,  then,  kissing  her  with  infinite  tender- 
ness, let  her  go  and  turned  to  Caroline. 

'  You'll  look  after  'er,'  she  said  fiercely,  almost 
theateningly.  'You  won't  let  'er  go  out  without 
'er  woollen  spencer,  and  you'll  see  the  sheets  are 
properly  aired;  and  don't  forget  the  'ot:water 
bottle  at  nights.' 

'  Not  if  I  can  remember  I  won't,'  answered  the 
poor  silly  creature;  then,  'Oh,  Euphemia,'  she 
went  on,  'supposing  you  don't  come  back  ?  ' 

'  Why  should  I  suppose  any  such  rubbish  ?  ' 
demanded  Euphemia,  trying  to  frown  her  into 
silence. 

'  I  was  only  thinking — '  began  the  tactless 
Caroline  falteringly,  but  Euphemia  interrupted 
before  she  could  proceed. 

'  Then  don't,  unless  you  can  think  sensible,' 
she  said;  then,  with  one  more  embrace  of  her 
mistress,  she  was  gone,  and  the  last  they  saw  of 
her  as  the  fly  rolled  off  down  the  hill  was  a  bright 
yellow  kid  glove  waving  a  handkerchief  out  of 
the  window. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  news  of  Euphemia's  departure  for  the 
Cottage  Hospital  at  Little  Frippon  came  as  a 
welcome  diversion  to  Diddlebury,  whose  in- 
habitants had  not  experienced  such  a  thrill  since 
the  poisoning  of  Mrs.  Critchett's  cat  the  pre- 
vious autumn,  and  who  were  getting  rather  tired 
of  hearing  what  her  sensations  had  been  on  dis- 
covering the  corpse  half-buried  under  Mr.  Per- 
kins's manure  heap,  and  the  verbatim  report  of 
her  subsequent  interview  with  the  parish 
constable. 

Quite  a  number  of  people  appeared  at  the 
cottage  the  following  day  to  glean  information, 
and  among  them  Mrs.  Bowers  in  a  state  of  such 
tremulous  agitation  that  a  stranger  might  well 
have  been  pardoned  for  jumping  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Euphemia  was  a  close  and  dearly- 
loved  relative  .  She  ran  into  the  room,  when  an- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  167 

nounced  by  Caroline,  with  flurried  short  steps, 
and  clasped  Miss  Lavender,  who  had  risen  to 
receive  her,  tightly  to  her  breast,  as  though 
defying  Fate  to  proceed  to  any  further  lengths 
now  that  there  was  a  protectress  at  hand. 

1  My  poor  dear  !  '  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of 
deep  emotion.  'What  sad,  sad  news.' 

1  You  mean  about  Euphemia  ?  '  said  Miss 
Lavender,  extricating  herself  from  her  visitor's 
embrace,  and  hurriedly  seating  herself  upon  the 
sofa  to  avoid  any  repetition  of  it. 

'  What  else,'  Mrs.  Bowers  said,  sinking  on  to 
the  vacant  place  beside  her,  and  possessing  her- 
self of  one  of  Miss  Lavender's  unwilling  hands, 
which  she  then  kneaded  softly  by  way  of  ex- 
pressing her  sympathy. 

'  Such  a  shock  !  '  she  continued  in  the  same 
deep  tones,  shaking  her  head  slowly  from  side  to 
side. 

'  Yes,  it— it  was  dreadfully  sudden.  I  had  no 
notion.  I — I  can  hardly  realise  that  it  is  not 
some  horrible  nightmare.' 

'  I  know,  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Bowers.   'I've  not 


168  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

forgotten  what  I  went  through  before  the 
RECTOR  had  his  operation.' 

'  Dear  me !  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  of  that,' 
remarked  Miss  Lavender  in  some  surprise. 
•'  Was  it  a  serious  one  ?  ' 

*  An  abscess,  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Bowers,  in  a 
voice  which  forbade  any  further  discussion  on 
the  subject  and  made  Miss  Lavender  feel  that 
she  had  been  very  nearly  guilty  of  an  impro- 
priety. As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  abscess  had  been 
situated  in  the  rector's  lower  jaw  and  not  in  any 
obscure  portion  of  his  anatomy,  but  it  would 
have  marred  the  effect  to  have  told  her  so;  con- 
sequently Mrs.  Bowers  preferred  to  leave  her 
with  the  impression  that  the  operating  table  and 
not  the  dentist's  chair  had  been  the  scene  of 
bloodshed. 

'  But  what  about  you  ?  '  inquired  Mrs. 
Bowers  after  an  impressive  pause.  'Who  is 
taking  care  of  you  meanwhile  ?  ' 

'  Caroline  Brill  is  with  me  until — until  one 
knows  more  definitely  about  things,'  replied  Miss 
Lavender. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  169 

Mrs.  Bowers  sniffed  contemptuously. 

'  Oh,  Caroline  Brill  !  '  she  observed,  a  world 
of  meaning  in  her  voice. 

'  She's  very  willing,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
excusingly. 

Mrs.  Bowers,  releasing  Miss  Lavender's 
hand,  dived  into  a  velvet  bag  which  hung  at  her 
side  and  produced  therefrom  a  sheet  of  paper. 

'  Of  course  you  can't  go  on  with  her,'  she  said 
decidedly. 

'  Oh,  she  does  very  well  temporarily,'  Miss 
Lavender  assured  her  hastily. 

1  I've  brought  a  list  of  girls  belonging  to  my 
Friendly  Society,'  went  on  Mrs.  Bowers,  paying 
no  attention  to  the  interruption.  'There  are  two 
or  three  of  them  would  come  to  you  only  too 
gladly.' 

'  It's  very  kind  of  you,  but  I  really  can't 
decide  anything  at  present,'  Miss  Lavender  said 
desperately. 

1  Now  Anna  Richards  is  leaving  her  situa- 
tion on  Monday.  I  should  think  she  would  do 
admirably  in  a  place  like  yours,'  suggested  Mrs. 


170  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Bowers,  not  heeding  Miss  Lavender's  remark. 
'A  bit  rough,  of  course,  but  you  can't  expect 
perfection  nowadays.' 

1  Thank  you,  but ' 

1  Or  there's  Marion  Giles/  pursued  Mrs. 
Bowers,  silencing  the  protest  with  a  wave  of 
the  hand.  'Such  a  nice-looking  girl,  if  it  wasn't 
for  that  unfortunate  squint,  but  as  you  enter- 
tain so  little  that  wouldn't  matter,  would  it? 
Or  Florrie  Johnson.  She's  been  in  quite  a  good 
place  in  Frippon.  She's  only  going  because  her 
father  came  drunk  to  the  house  and  made  such 
a  disturbance  they  had  to  call  in  the  police, 
and  that  wasn't  her  fault,  of  course,  poor  girl.' 

1  But  I've  got  Caroline,'  persisted  Miss 
Lavender,  with  a  horrible  dread  that  if  she 
showed  the  slightest  signs  of  wavering,  one  of 
Mrs.  Bowers's  nominees  would  be  dumped  down 
upon  her  in  spite  of  herself. 

Mrs.  Bowers  folded  up  the  paper  and  returned 
it  to  her  bag,  which  she  closed  with  a  vicious 
snap. 

'  Of  course  if  you're  satisfied  with  Caroline 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  171 

Brill  I've  nothing  more  to  say,'  she  remarked 
rising  to  her  feet. 

1  Oh,  but  you  aren't  going,'  said  Miss 
Lavender  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Bowers  putting  on  her 
gloves,  her  sense  of  hospitality  overcoming  her 
intense  desire  to  be  left  alone.  'Won't  you  stay 
and  have  some  tea  ?  ' 

'  Thank  you.  I  have  other  calls  to  pay,'  said 
Mrs.  Bowers;  and  from  the  way  she  spoke  it 
was  obvious  that  the  visit  of  condolence  had 
been  reduced  to  the  level  of  a  mere  social  duty. 

Miss  Lavender,  trusting  she  was  successfully 
concealing  the  relief  she  felt,  rang  the  bell  for 
Caroline,  who,  greatly  to  her  chagrin,  presently 
appeared  minus  the  cap  which  Euphemia  had 
bestowed  upon  her  as  a  parting  gift,  and  with  a 
tail  of  hair  hanging  down  her  back. 

1  Yes  ?  '  she  said.  'What  is  it  ?  ' 

'  Show  Mrs.  Bowers  out,'  said  Miss  Lavender. 

Caroline  stared,  uncomprehending. 

'  Open  the  front  door  for  her,'  exclaimed  Miss 
Lavender  irritably,  feeling  that  it  would  be  an 
immense  relief  to  shake  her. 


172  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  It  ain't  shut,'  remarked  Mrs.  Brill  in  matter- 
of-fact  tones. 

1  Kindly  do  as  I  bid  you,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
sharply. 

1  But  'ow  am  I  to  open  a  door  that  ain't 
shut  ?  '  inquired  Caroline  helplessly. 

Before  an  answer  to  this  pertinent  question 
could  be  forthcoming  a  bell  rang. 

'  That  is  the  front  door  bell,'  exclaimed  Miss 
Lavender  in  tones  of  relief.  'Go  and  see  who  it 
is  at  once.' 

Caroline,  thankful  to  be  spared  further  mental 
worry,  hastened  out  of  the  room  to  do  her 
bidding,  returning  in  a  few  minutes  to  announce 
Mr.  Tidd. 

'  But  where  is  he  ?  '  asked  Miss  Lavender 
wonderingly. 

1  Oh,  I've  put  'im  to  wait  in  the  dining-room,' 
replied  Caroline  easily. 

Mrs.  Bowers  smiled  sardonically. 

'  How  odd,'  she  remarked.  'Don't  bother, 
dear.  I'll  find  my  own  way  out.  Gentlemen 
don't  like  being  kept  waiting,  do  they  ?  ' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  173 

With  a  little  nod  she  was  gone,  leaving  Miss 
Lavender  staring  after  her  with  crimson  cheeks 

'  Why  on  earth  didn't  you  show  Mr.  Tidd 
straight  in  here  ?  '  she  demanded,  rounding  upon 
Caroline  with  a  fierceness  quite  out  of  keeping 
with  her  usual  self. 

'  'E  wasn't  wishful  to  come,'  exclaimed  Caro- 
line unabashed.  '  "Anybody  with  Miss  Lav- 
ender ?  "  sez  'e.  "Only  Mrs.  Bowers,"  I  sez. 
Then  (if  you'll  excuse  my  mentioning  it,  miss), 
"Damn,"  sez  'e,  be'ind  'is  teeth  like,  but  not  so 
low  as  to  escape  me;  so,  acting  according  to  'is 
language,  I  pops  'im  into  the  dining-room  till 
she  was  safe  out  o'  the  way.' 

*  You  had  no  business  to  do  any  such  thing. 
Go  and  fetch  Mr.  Tidd  here  immediately.' 

Caroline  departed  on  her  errand  muttering 
something  below  her  breath  about  'no  pleasing 
some  folks.  The  more  you  do,  the  more  you 
may  do,'  but  Miss  Lavender  turned  a  deaf  ear 
to  her  complaints  and,  when  she  had  left  the 
room,  stood  there  waiting,  trying  to  regain  the 
composure  which  Mrs.  Bowers  and  Caroline 


174  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

between  them  had  succeeded  in  driving  away, 
before  Mr.  Tidd  appeared. 

When  at  length  he  was  ushered  in  she  in- 
stantly noticed  a  subtle  change  in  him.  There 
seemed  a  kind  of  neglected  look  about  him,  and 
his  usually  dapper  dress  showed  obvious  signs  of 
want  of  attention,  as  though  it  was  not  worth 
while  bothering  over. 

'  You  don't  look  well,'  she  said  concernedly 
as  they  shook  hands. 

'  I'm  right  enough.  I  miss  the  boy,  that's  all,' 
he  replied  wearily. 

'  But  isn't  he  with  you  ?  '  asked  Miss  Lav- 
ender in  surprise.  She  had  not  seen  either  of 
them  for  some  days,  but  that  Bobbie  was  not  at 
home  had  never  occurred  to  her.  She  had  sup- 
posed that,  during  these  last  few  weeks  before 
his  wedding,  he  would  have  jealously  guarded 
each  second  of  the  short  time  that  remained  to 
him  of  that  close  companionship  which  was  so  in- 
finitely precious  to  the  old  man  whom  he  was 
leaving. 

1  'E  won't  be  home  again  now.'  The  words 
came  out  heavily  and  slowly. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  175 

1  Do  you  mean  he  is  not  coming  back  here 
again  before  his  wedding  day  ?  ' 

In  spite  of  her  endeavours  Miss  Lavender 
could  not  help  the  astonishment  she  felt  showing 
itself  in  her  voice. 

Mr.  Tidd  nodded. 

'  That's  it,'  he  answered.  'After  all,  I  don't 
know  that  it  matters  much.  It  'ad  to  come  soon 
anyhow,  and  I've  been  saved  brooding  over  it. 
The  young  don't  see  eye  to  eye  with  the  old 
folks.  How  should  they?  Nobody  can  learn 
without  being  taught,  and  there's  but  one 
teacher  of  sympathy  and  that's  experience.  You 
mustn't  blame  my  boy  too  much,  Miss  Lavender. 
He  don't  understand,  that's  all.' 

'  Then  he  should  be  made  to,'  Miss  Lavender 
said  severely. 

'  It's  but  following  the  laws  of  nature,'  main- 
tained Mr.  Tidd,  unwilling  to  admit  that  there 
could  be  any  flaw  in  his  idol.  'Don't  we  read  in 
the  Bible  that  a  man  shall  leave  'is  father  and 
mother  and  cleave  unto  'is  wife.  ?  ' 

'  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  Miss  Chalmers  is 
his  wife,'  observed  Miss  Lavender  tartly. 

Mr.  Tidd  snapped  his  fingers. 


176  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

f  Straw-splitting  !  '  he  remarked.  'But  there, 
I  didn't  come  'ere  to  talk  about  my  affairs.  I 
hear  you're  in  trouble  about  your  old  friend. 
You'll  be  missing  her  sorely.' 

The  sympathy  in  his  voice  proved  altogether 
too  much  for  Miss  Lavender. 

'  We've  lived  with  one  another  so  long,'  she 
said,  breaking  down  and  sobbing.  'It  sounds  so 
silly  for  an  old  woman  to  say  it,  but  I  simply 
don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  manage  alone. 
Ever  since  I  was  a  girl  Euphemia  has  looked 
after  me,  and  now,  without  her,  I  feel  like — like 
a  cripple  without  a  crutch.' 

'  I  know.  I  feel  that  way  myself,  at  times,' 
Mr.  Tidd  said.  'You'll  get  yours  back  again 
though,'  he  added  half  enviously. 

Miss  Lavender  fumbled  in  her  pocket  for  her 
handkerchief. 

'  Shall  I  ?  '  she  said,  two  big  tears  overflow- 
ing and  rolling  down  her  cheeks.  'Shall  I  ?  If 
only  I  knew.' 

Mr.  Tidd  produced  from  an  inner  pocket  an 
enormous  red  bandana  which  he  solemnly 
handed  to  her. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  177 

*  It  won't  be  the  first  time  you've  dried  your 
eyes  on  my  hankerchief,'  he  observed,  noticing 
that  she  hesitated. 

'  You  remember  that,'  she  said,  smiling 
through  her  tears,  a  little  wintry  smile,  and  hes- 
itating no  longer. 

'  Yes.   I  remember,'  he  said  gravely. 

'  I  always  was  a  coward,'  she  remarked  tremu- 
lously, mopping  her  eyes  vigorously  on  the  ban- 
dana. 'You'll  always  connect  me  with  crying.' 

'  I  just  happen  to  have  been  by,'  he  answered. 
'That's  all.  Seems  almost  as  if — as  if  I  was 
meant  to  dry  your  tears.' 

'  I  won't  be  so  stupid  again,'  said  Miss  Lav- 
ender, carefully  folding  up  the  red  handkerchief 
and  laying  it  on  the  table  beside  her.  'I'll  have 
this  washed  before  you  have  it  back.' 

Mr.  Tidd  stretched  out  his  hand  and,  picking 
it  up,  restored  it  to  his  pocket. 

'  It  won't  be  any  the  worse,'  he  said.  'Now 
look  here,  Miss  Lavender,  why  not  pack  up  your 
trunks  and  come  and  stay  at  Starr  Cross  until 
Euphemia's  home  again  ?  ' 


178  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Miss  Lavender  looked  at  him  with  startled 
eyes. 

1  Oh,  I— I  don't  think  I  could  do  that,'  she 
said  primly. 

*  Why  not?  You  wouldn't  be  alone.  Mrs. 
Jarvis  is  coming  to  pay  a  long  visit  to-morrow.' 

'  Who  is  Mrs.  Jarvis  ?  '  she  inquired. 

'  She  was  Bobbie's  governess  when  he  was  a 
little  chap.  She  only  left  to  be  married.  The 
man  turned  out  a  scamp  and  left  her  at  the  end 
of  a  year,  and  a  good  riddance  too.  He's  dead 
now  and  she  tries  to  keep  going  by  teaching  a 
lot  of  little  brats,  but  she's  broken  down  lately, 
and  so ' 

He  stopped  abruptly,  but  Miss  Lavender 
finished  the  sentence  for  him. 

'  And  so  you're  being  kind  to  her,  like,  it  seems 
to  me,  you  are  to  everybody.' 

1  Well.  Will  you  come  ?  '  he  asked,  switching 
off  the  conversation  to  another  line. 

Miss  Lavender  shook  her  head. 

'  I  can't  settle  anything  definitely  until — until 
I  know  what's  going  to  happen,'  she  said,  and  he 
knew  she  was  referring  to  the  result  of  the 
operation. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  179 

{  When's  it  to  be  ?  '  he  inquired. 

1 1  don't  know  for  certain.  The  matron  was 
to  write  to  me  to-day,  so  I  shall  hear  to-morrow 
morning,  I  hope.' 

Mr.  Tidd  crossed  to  the  door,  and  stood  there 
with  his  hand  on  the  knob.  'I  dessay  you'll  be 
wanting  to  go  over  to  Frippon  most  days.  The 
car's  at  your  disposal,  mind,  whenever  you  want 
it.' 

Before  she  could  say  a  word  of  thanks  he  had 
fled,  and  the  next  minute  she  heard  the  click  of 
the  garden  gate  as  he  passed  out. 

The  house  suddenly  seemed  very  lonely.  A 
shrill  voice  from  the  back  regions  announced 
that  'a  few  more  years  should  roll,'  but  that  was 
only  a  vocal  effort  of  Caroline's,  and  Caroline 
was  one  of  those  people  who  have  the  effect  of 
intensifying,  rather  than  diminishing  the  sense 
of  loneliness.  By  the  time  she  sat  down  to  her 
badly-cooked  dinner,  Miss  Lavender  had  decided 
that  directly  she  knew  how  things  turned  out, 
whether  for  good  or  ill,  she  would  follow  Mr. 
Tidd's  advice  and  pack  up  her  trunks  and  go 
round  to  Starr  Cross. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Miss  LAVENDER  sat  by  Euphemia's  bedside  in 
the  small  ward  of  the  hospital.  There  were  only 
two  beds  in  it,  and  the  second  one  was  vacant, 
so  that  she  had  the  minor  consolation  of  feeling 
that  the  last  supreme  moments  were  hers  alone. 

For  it  had  come  to  that.  Euphemia  was 
dying!  Very  soon  now  she  would  have  left  this 
world  behind  her,  with  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its 
loves  and  hate,  its  hopes  and  disappointments, 
and  would  have  set  out  on  the  next  stage  of  the 
journey  across  the  desert  of  Time,  beyond  which 
lies  Eternity  and  the  Peace  which  passes  under- 
standing. 

She  lay  so  still  and  motionless  that  more  than 
once  Miss  Lavender  thought  she  had  already 
loosed  her  feeble  grasp  on  life;  but  though  the 
fires  were  burning  low  they  were  not  quite  ex- 
tinguished, for  suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes 
and  her  lips  moved,  forming  words  yet  uttering 
no  sound. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  181 

'  What  is  it  you  want  to  say  ?  '  Miss  Lavender 
asked,  bending  over  her. 

Euphemia  rallied  her  forces,  and  spoke  in  a 
weak  whisper: 

'  I'm  givin'  you — a  lot — o'  trouble.' 

Miss  Lavender  stroked  the  red,  work-coars- 
ened hand  which  rested  outside  the  bed-clothes. 

'  You've  taken  care  of  me  for  so  many  years,' 
she  said.  'Don't  you  think  it  is  my  turn  to  take 
care  of  you  now  ?  ' 

'  I  'adn't  no  thin'  else  to  mother  but  you,' 
Euphemia  said,  the  words  coming  out  very 
slowly  and  with  many  pauses  in  between.  'If 
a  woman  misses  the  best  in  life,  if  she  never  'as 
the  chance  given  'er  of  bein'  a  wife  or  of  'avin' 
little  ones,  it  leaves  a  big  gapin'  'ole  in  'er  'eart 
which  'as  to  be  filled  some'ow.'  Her  dim  eyes 
looked  back  rather  wistfully  over  the  long 
stretch  of  years  which  lay  behind. 

'  You've  been  'usband  and  child  to  me,'  she 
went  on,  screwing  her  mouth  up  into  the  faint 
ghost  of  a  smile.  '  I  suppose  that's  why  I  used 
sometimes  to  speak  my  mind  out  to  you,  though 


182  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

I  was  always  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  It's  a  queer 
thing,  ain't  it.' 

*  What  is  ?  ' 

'  Why,  that  the  more  one  cares  for  a  body, 
the  easier  it  is  to  lose  one's  temper  with  'em. 
It  some'ow  don't  seem  worth  while  to  get  angry 
with  ordinary  folks.' 

'  You  ought  not  to  talk.' 

1  It  won't  make  no  difference.  There's  some- 
thin'  I  want  to  tell  you.' 

'  What  is  it  ?  ' 

'  You  remember  George  Green  ?  ' 

Miss  Lavender  searched  her  memory  in  vain. 

'  I'm  afraid  I  don't,'  she  said  at  last. 

'  Not  the  red-'eaded  young  fellow  'oo  drove 
Wigley's  cart  ?  ' 

*  Wigley,  the  baker's  cart!    But  that  must  be 
thirty  years  ago,  Euphemia.' 

'  Thereabouts.  I've  often  tried  to  tell  you, 
but  I  could  never  pluck  up  courage.  I  used  to 
'ave  'im  to  supper  in  the  kitchen,  unbeknownst 
to  you  !  ' 

'  Never  mind  that  now.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  183 

'  I  didn't  think,  at  the  time,  as  it  wasn't  my 
own  food  'e  was  eatin,'  but  I've  'ad  it  on  my  con- 
science since.  There!  I've  told  you  anyway.' 

'  As  if  it  mattered !  As  if  anything  matters 
but  you.' 

For  a  long  time  there  was  silence,  then  Euphe- 
mia  spoke  again. 

t  If  Caroline  comes  to  the  funeral,'  she  said, 
'don't  let  'er  wear  that  black  'at  with  the  crepe 
bow,  for  I  can't  bear  it.  You  can  give  'er  my 
bonnet  with  the  black  currants  in,  if  come  she 
must.' 

'  Oh,  don't  talk  in  that  way,'  cried  Miss 
Lavender  piteously. 

'  My  dearie,  where 's  the  'arm?  It  won't  be  me 
you're  buryin';  only  my  poor  old,  ugly  body. 
I  never  took  much  account  o'  that,  as  far  as 
looks  went,  not  but  what  it's  unbecomin'  in  me 
to  find  fault  with  the  Almighty's  'andiwork.  I 
don't  doubt  'E  'ad  'Is  purpose  in  makin'  me 
plain.  Per'aps  'E  foresaw  you'd  'ave  need  of 
me  all  these  years,  and  if  I'd  been  personable, 
the  chances  are  I'd  'ave  got  took  in  by  some 


184  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

worthless  chap.  Look  at  that  Caroline !  Though 
to  be  sure,  she  can  never  'ave  been  much  to 
boast  of  in  the  way  o'  looks.' 

The  nurse  bustled  in  at  this  juncture,  and 
shook  an  admonitory  finger.  'I  thought  talking 
was  forbidden,'  she  said.  'How  do  you  expect 
us  to  get  you  mended  if  you  go  on  like  this? 
You're  a  naughty  old  woman.' 

"  You  get  along  with  you,'  retorted  Euphemia 
with  a  faint  return  of  her  former  spirit.  'I'm 
neither  an  idiot  nor  a  child,  and  I've  still  got  the 
breath  in  my  body  to  tell  you  so.  My  Miss 
Lavender  ain't  'ere  at  this  time  o'  night  for  no 
reason,  and  I  know  well  enough  what  the  reason 
is.' 

'  I  never  knew  such  a  one  to  argue,'  the  nurse 
said,  darting  a  hasty  glance  at  the  figure  seated 
beside  the  bed.  'You  drink  this  milk,  and  don't 
you  open  your  mouth  again,  else  we  shall  have 
to  ask  your  Miss  Lavender  to  go.' 

'I'll  lie  quiet,  if  you'll  see  Miss  Lavender  'as 
something  too.  She  ain't  used  to  sittin'  up  and 
she's  got  plenty  to  go  through  with  presently.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  185 

So  the  kindly  nurse  went  away,  and  returned 
in  a  few  minutes  with  a  cup  of  beef-tea  in  which 
was  a  large  spoonful  of  brandy,  and  insisted  on 
Miss  Lavender  drinking  it  down. 

'  She'll  probably  sleep  now,  if  you'd  like  me 
to  tuck  you  up  on  the  other  bed,'  she  said.  'I 
promise  to  wake  you  if  there's  any  change.' 

But  Miss  Lavender  would  not  hear  of  that, 
and,  when  Euphemia  fell  into  a  heavy  doze,  sat 
on,  not  daring  to  stir  for  fear  of  disturbing  her. 

One  by  one  the  leaden  hours  dragged  them- 
selves away,  and  still  Euphemia  slept.  The 
darkness  and  silence  of  the  outside  world  gave 
place  to  the  gray,  ghostly  light  of  early  dawn 
and  the  soft  twittering  of  newly  wakened  birds. 
A  whispering  breeze  rustled  the  tree-tops,  and 
stealing  in  through  the  open  window  gently 
stirred  the  blind. 

Miss  Lavender  very,  very  cautiously  withdrew 
her  hand  from  Euphemia's  clasp  and,  tiptoeing 
across  the  room  peeped  out. 

Behind  the  distant  ridge  of  hills  the  sky  was 
ablaze  with  glory  which  every  second  increased. 


186  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Golden,  and  violet,  and  delicate  rose-pink  were 
mixed  together  in  inextricable  confusion  on  a 
slate-blue  background  until  she  could  almost 
fancy  that  they  were  the  colours  on  the  palette, 
waiting  there  ready  for  the  Master-hand  to  use 
in  His  work. 

She  stood  there  for  some  minutes,  drinking 
in  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  when  she  had 
steeped  her  soul  in  the  dew  of  the  morning, 
turned  back  refreshed  and  soothed,  to  resume 
her  post  beside  the  dying  woman. 

Euphemia  was  awake  now,  her  gaze  fixed 
upon  her  beloved  mistress  as  though  she  would 
carry  with  her  into  the  valley  of  death  itself  the 
lineaments  engraven  on  her  mind  of  the  dear, 
familiar  face. 

{ Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?  Any- 
thing that  you  want  ?  '  Miss  Lavender  asked, 
bending  over  her. 

'  The  blind,'  Euphemia  whispered,  so  low  that 
Miss  Lavender  could  barely  hear  the  words. 

1  Do  you  want  it  up  ?  ' 

'Up.' 

Miss  Lavender  went  again  to  the  window  and, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  187 

drawing  up  the  blind,  flooded  the  room  with 
the  dazzling  splendour  of  the  eastern  sky,  which 
touched  even  the  bare,  white-washed  walls  with 
fairy  fingers  and  transformed  them  into  mellow 
gold. 

Euphemia,  as  the  radiance  fell  upon  her, 
turned  her  head  so  that  her  failing  eyes  might 
take  their  last  look  at  the  beauty  of  the  world 
which  soon  would  know  her  no  more. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  lay  there,  with  an 
expression  of  such  perfect  contentment  on  her 
face  that  Miss  Lavender,  watching  her,  mar- 
velled, then  she  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction, 
as  though  the  last  doubt  had  been  solved  in  her 
mind. 

1  Ain't  that — proof  enough — for  anybody  ?  ' 
she  said,  then  her  eyes  closed  again. 

Miss  Lavender,  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  saw 
her  lips  move  at  intervals,  and  once  she  smiled, 
as  though  her  thoughts  were  pleasant  ones,  but 
gradually  even  those  faint  signs  of  animation 
ceased  and,  but  for  the  scarcely  perceptible  rise 
and  fall  of  her  breast,  she  might  have  been  dead 
already,  so  still  did  she  lie. 


188  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

The  nurse  came  in  and  stood  at  the  other  side 
of  the  bed,  keenly  watching,  but  she  did  not 
disturb  the  dying  woman  with  useless  minis- 
trations. The  time  for  that  was  past. 

How  long  they  remained  thus  Miss  Lavender 
never  quite  knew,  but  she  was  dimly  conscious 
that  presently  the  nurse  leant  down  and  laid  her 
hand  on  the  breast  of  the  figure  lying  so  strangely 
still  between  them,  then  came  round  to  where 
she  knelt,  and  touched  her  gently  on  the 
shoulder. 

Without  any  words,  she  knew  what  that 
touch  meant,  and,  rising  quite  steadily  to  her 
feet,  bent  over  and  kissed  Euphemia's  forehead, 
a  long,  lingering,  farewell  kiss. 

'  Good-by,  dear  friend.  Sleep  well,  after  the 
hard  day's  toil,'  she  whispered,  so  softly  that 
not  even  the  nurse  heard  her,  then  without 
another  word,  another  look,  she  turned  and 
walked  quietly  out  of  the  room. 

'  Let  me  get  you  a  cup  of  tea,'  the  nurse  said 
anxiously,  following  her  out,  but  Miss  Lavender 
shook  her  head.  Even  tea,  that  panacea  for 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  189 

most  of  the  ills  to  which  feminine  flesh  is  heir  to, 
could  not  ease  a  desolate  heart.  Like  a  stricken 
animal,  her  one  and  only  idea  was  to  creep  away 
out  of  sight,  to  hide  herself  in  some  dark  corner 
where  nobody  could  see  her,  and  there  try  and 
piece  together  the  puzzle  which  has  perplexed 
poor  humanity  ever  since  the  day  when  the 
Cherubim  with  the  flaming  sword  mounted 
guard  over  the  Tree  of  Life. 

1 1  don't  want  anything,  except  to  get  home,' 
she  answered. 

'  But  have  you  any  conveyance  to  take  you? 
It's  only  six  o'clock.  The  livery  stables  won't 
be  open  yet,'  said  the  nurse  doubtfully.  'Why 
shouldn't  you  lie  down  on  the  sofa  in  the 
matron's  sitting-room  for  an  hour  or  two  ?  ' 

1 1  must  get  home,'  Miss  Lavender  repeated. 
'I'll  walk  round  and  knock  them  up.  It'll  be 
—something  to  do.' 

*  Well,  if  you're  sure.' 

'  Yes,  yes.' 

They  passed  down  the  dark  staircase,  where 
the  blinds  still  shrouded  the  windows,  and  across 


190  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

the  hall,  where  a  feeble  jet  of  gas  struggled 
against  the  light  which  filtered  in  through  the 
ivy-covered  fanlight  above  the  front  door,  which 
the  nurse  opened,  letting  in  a  rush  of  cool  sweet 
air.  'I  don't  want  to  worry  you  at  such  a  mo- 
ment,' she  said  apologetically,  'but  there  are — 
arrangements  to  be  made.' 

'  I'll  come  over  later,'  Miss  Lavender  replied, 
with  a  desperate  feeling  that  the  nurse  would 
try  to  keep  her  against  her  will  if  she  did  not 
hurry  away.  So  eager  was  she  to  be  gone  that 
she  pulled  the  door  to  behind  her,  and  it  was  not 
until  she  was  on  the  path  outside  that  she  noticed 
a  car  standing  a  little  way  along  the  street. 

The  driver's  back  was  towards  her  but  it 
somehow  looked  familiar,  and  even  as  she 
paused,  uncertain  whether  to  advance  or  retire, 
he  turned  and  she  saw  that  it  was  Mr.  Tidd. 

At  sight  of  her  he  clambered  out  of  the  seat 
and  came  down  the  path  to  meet  her,  looking 
very  shy  and  uncomfortable. 

*  You  !  '  she  exclaimed. 

'  I  'ope  you  don't  think  I've  taken  a  liberty  ?  ' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  191 

he  said  anxiously,  carefully  refraining  from 
meeting  her  eye. 

'  I — I  don't  understand.  How  do  you  happen 
to  be  here?  I'm  in  great  trouble.  I  want  to  get 
home.'  The  words  came  tumbling  out  of  her 
mouth  incoherently.  She  felt  the  necessity  of 
saying  something  and  spoke  out  what  was  upper- 
most in  her  mind  through  sheer  inability  to 
choose  what  she  would  say. 

'  I'll  drive  you  home.' 

She  felt  grateful  to  him  for  the  brevity  of  the 
remark;  he  sought  no  explanation  and  she 
offered  none.  There  would  be  time  for  that  in 
the  future.  At  present  she  was  thankful  to 
crawl  into  the  motor  and  realise  that  all  need  for 
exertion  was  at  an  end.  That  he  had  been  there 
was  sufficient.  The  why  and  wherefore  of  his 
appearance  at  the  precise  moment  when  he 
could  be  of  service  to  her  seemed  of  hardly  any 
importance  beside  the  fact  that  he  was  there. 

It  was  not  until  later  that  she  dragged  from 
him  the  unwilling  confession  that  he  had  been 
there  all  night,  in  case  she  wanted  him. 


192  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  But  how  did  you  know  I  was  there  ?  '  she 
asked  wonderingly. 

1 1  found  out/  he  replied  evasively. 

'  But  how  ?  '  she  insisted. 

'  I  made  Mrs.  Brill  promise  to  come  round 
and  tell  me  if  you  were  sent  for  in  a  hurry,'  he 
said  as  shamefacedly  as  if  he  had  been  caught 
committing  some  awful  crime,  and  failing  to  add 
that  Caroline  was  half  a  sovereign  to  the  good 
over  the  transaction. 

'  Then — then  you  were  there  all  night  !  '  said 
Miss  Lavender  accusingly. 

Mr.  Tidd  wriggled  miserably. 

'  It's — it's  getting  nice  and  warm  o'  nights 
now,'  he  responded  in  tones  of  exculpation.  To 
hear  him  one  would  think  he  had  been  accused 
of  some  heinous  offence! 

'  And  you  didn't  even  ask  questions!  Didn't 
you  want  to  know  ?  ' 

1  It  wasn't  so  difficult  to  guess,  and  any'ow, 
you'd  'a'  told  me  if  you'd  wanted,  without  my 
bothering  you,'  he  said  simply. 

'  I  think,'  said  Miss  Lavender  slowly,  'that 
you  are  the  truest  gentleman  I  have  ever  met.' 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THERE  was  no  doubt  that  Caroline  enjoyed  a 
certain  amount  of  reflected  glory  from  Euphe- 
mia's  death.  She  sprang  from  a  class  which  re- 
gards such  an  event  as,  in  some  extraordinary 
manner,  redounding  to  the  credit  of  all  who 
happen,  in  however  remote  a  degree,  to  be 
affected  by  it.  It  is  true  she  shed  abundant 
tears ;  indeed,  every  time  she  met  Miss  Lavender 
about  the  house  she  started  off  a  fresh  bout  of 
weeping,  but  that  was  partly  etiquette.  Occupy- 
ing as  she  did,  even  though  temporarily,  the 
place  of  the  deceased,  she  considered  it  her  duty 
and  privilege  to  display  a  corresponding  emo- 
tion, and  she  entirely  failed  to  understand  Miss 
Lavender's  calm  acquiescence  in  the  decrees  of 
Providence.  She  felt  that  her  employer  was  not 
exacting  her  full  measure  of  enjoyment  out  of 
the  situation,  and  was  hard  put  to  it  to  answer 
the  sympathetic  inquiries  of  the  tradespeople 


194  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

who  called  for  orders,  until  she  hit  upon  a  reply 
which  satisfied  her,  both  on  account  of  its  di- 
plomacy and  its  sentiment. 

'Ah,  she's  taking  it  'ard,  poor  dear,'  she  would 
say  on  such  occasions.  'If  she  could  only  cry  it 
'ud  do  'er  good,  but  there  she  sits  like  a  stoned 
image,  paying  'eed  to  neither  'er  food  nor  what 
anybody  sez  to  'er.' 

Perhaps,  if  anyone  could  have  seen  Miss 
Lavender  in  the  privacy  of  her  bedroom,  with  the 
door  locked  to  prevent  the  incursions  of  Caro- 
line, who  followed  her  about  with  little  basins  of 
greasy-looking  beef-tea,  he  would  have  thought 
differently,  for  it  was  only  then  that  she  allowed 
herself  to  think,  and  the  brave  front  she  showed 
to  the  world  gave  place  to  the  helpless  tears  of 
loneliness  and  self-pity.  She  never  pretended, 
even  to  herself,  that  the  tears  were  for  Euphemia, 
Her  faith  was  strong  enough  to  assure  her 
that,  whatever  the  change  which  had  come  to 
her  faithful  old  friend,  it  was  one  for  the  better. 
If  she  wept,  it  was  for  herself,  and  her  house 
left  to  her  desolate. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  195 

She  had  decided  that  Euphemia  should  be  laid 
to  rest  in  the  quiet  little  graveyard  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  where  her  own  father  and  mother  were 
buried,  and  where  the  violets  and  primroses 
grew  thick  among  the  grassy  mounds  and  white 
tombstones  which  clustered  round  the  small  gray 
church  in  which  so  many  broken  hearts  had 
poured  out  their  complaints  before  their  God 
and  showed  Him  of  their  trouble. 

So  the  tired  old  body  was  brought  home,  and 
once  more,  though  now  in  death,  slept  in  the 
little  room  above  the  kitchen,  surrounded  by  all 
the  familiar  objects  which  it  had  loved  in  life, 
to  the  shocked  surprise  of  Caroline,  who  looked 
upon  it  as  a  slur  cast  upon  Euphemia's  memory. 

If  Caroline  could  have  had  her  way,  the  coffin 
would  have  been  placed  on  the  spare-room  bed, 
and  accorded  a  sort  of  lying-in-state  to  which 
neighbours  and  friends  might  be  bidden,  with 
herself  as  cicerone,  and  she  went  so  far  as  to 
hint  that  Miss  Lavender  was  behaving  shabbily 
in  acting  otherwise. 

Miss  Lavender,  however,  knew  very  well  that 


196  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

if  Euphemia  was  able  to  look  back  across  the 
great  gulf  fixed  between  them,  she  would  desire 
nothing  better  than  that  the  body  from  which 
she  had  been  set  free  should  lie  in  the  chamber 
which  had  once  been  its  own. 

So  to  her  own  room  she  was  carried,  and  Miss 
Lavender  took  good  care  to  lock  the  door  and 
keep  the  key  in  her  pocket,  to  Caroline's  intense 
disgust,  a  disgust  which  was  not  in  the  least 
degree  mitigated  by  the  fact  that  she  herself 
was  put  to  occupy  the  best  bedroom. 

'  I  ain't  a  guest  and  I  ain't  a  corpse,'  she  com- 
plained to  the  milkman,  the  first  morning  after 
she  slept  there.  'I'm  neither  one  thing  nor  the 
other,  yet  feeling  a  bit  of  both.' 

'  More  like  some  one  'oo's  died  while  on  a 
visit,'  suggested  the  milkman,  who  was  a  humor- 
ist in  his  own  estimation,  and  consequently  had 
a  reputation  to  live  up  to. 

'  Ye-es.  More  like  that  I  s'pose,'  replied 
Caroline  doubtfully,  afraid  to  agree  too  cordially 
lest  there  might  be  more  in  the  remark  than  met 
the  eye. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  197 

1  When's  the  funeral?'  the  milkman  inquired. 
He  always  liked  to  gather  stray  items  of  in- 
formation, to  deliver  with  the  milk  on  his 
rounds. 

'  Thursday,'  responded  Caroline  gloomily. 
'Though  it  don't  'ardly  amount  to  a  funeral. 
It's  just  a  burying,  if  you  understand.' 

The  milkman  did  understand  and  nodded 
comprehendingly. 

'  Not  a  soul  invited  to  the  church,  let  alone  to 
the  'ouse,'  went  on  the  scandalised  Caroline,  'and 
but  a  single- 'orse  brougham  from  'Obbes's  to 
follow  the  'earse!  She  couldn't  'ave  been  done 
with  less  style  if  she'd  been  left  to  the  parish.' 

'  You'll  be  going  though,  I  take  it?'  queried 
the  milkman. 

*  You  can  take  it  —  from  me,'  Caroline  in- 
formed him.  'I'm  not  the  sort  to  cast  a  slur  on 
them  'oo  are  dead  and  gone  and  unable,  in  a 
manner  o'  speaking,  to  defend  theirselves,  and 
though  the  poor  dear  may  'ave  'ad  a  sharp  tongue 
in  the  flesh,  as  well  I  know  she  'ad  to  my  cost, 
I'm  sure  I'm  the  last  to  bring  it  up  against  'er 


198  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

now,  and  though  per'aps  it's  'ardly  becoming  in 
me  to  say  so,  she  thought  a  wonderful  lot  of  even 
me,  Mr.  Gage.  Why,  almost  the  last  words 
she  uttered,  before  she  left  this  'ouse  never  to 
return,  showed  the  trust  she  deposited  in  me. 
"Caroline'll  take  care  of  you,"  she  sez  to  Miss 
Lavender.  Those  were  'er  very  words,  and  I 
'card  'er  with  my  own  ears.  "Caroline'll  take 
care  of  you,"  she  sez.' 

There  was  an  impressive  pause  to  allow 
Euphemia's  last  words  to  sink  into  the  milkman's 
brain,  then  Caroline,  with  a  preoccupied  air, 
gazing  over  his  shoulder  at  some  distant  object, 
remarked: 

1  I'm  to  drive  down  in  'Obbes,  along  with 
Miss  Lavender.' 

*  Well,  that'll  be  a  nice  treat  for  you,'  said 
Mr.  Gage. 

'  I'm  not  saying  I  ain't  gratified  in  a  way  o' 
speaking,'  acknowledged  Mrs.  Brill.  'But  it  'ud 
'ave  seemed  more  like  riding  be'ind  a  corpse  to 
'ave  'ad  plumes  nodding  in  front  of  one,  and  silk 
scarves  round  the  men's  'ats.  I  only  'ope  'Obbes 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  199 

'ull  'ave  the  respeck  not  to  send  a  driver  in  a 
cock-eyed  'at.' 

1  You  can't  expect  the  respect  from  a  livery- 
stables  as  you  get  from  an  undertaker,'  was  the 
opinion  of  Mr.  Gage,  and  Caroline  agreed  with 
him. 

1  It  ain't  in  reason  they  should  'ave  the  good 
conduck  of  a  funeral  at  their  finger-tips,  same  as 
them  whose  lives  are  spent  in  the  midst  o'  death,' 
she  remarked  concedingly. 

The  day  of  Euphemia's  funeral  was  one  of 
those  rare  ones  which  seem  to  have  dropped 
straight  out  of  heaven. 

The  blue  sky  was  flecked  with  tiny,  feathery 
white  clouds,  which  floated  on  the  light  warm 
breeze  like  thistle-down,  and  the  shower  which 
had  drenched  the  earth  the  previous  night  had 
brought  out  of  it  that  clean,  fresh  scent  of  wet 
soil  which  only  those  who  love  the  country  can 
appreciate  properly. 

Everything  seemed  so  full  of  the  promise  of 
life  that  it  was  hard  to  attune  the  mind  to  the 
thought  of  death. 


200  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

The  bonnet  trimmed  with  black  currants  had, 
in  accordance  with  Euphemia's  wishes,  been  duly 
assigned  to  Caroline,  who,  by  removing  the 
strings  and  filling  in  the  aperture  at  the  back 
with  a  rusty  black  crepe  bow,  had  converted  it 
into  what  she  called  a  'tock.'  Taking  time  by  the 
forelock,  as  a  woman  nearly  always  does  when 
she  has  to  go  out  in  other  than  her  everyday 
clothes,  she  appeared  in  it  at  lunch-time,  causing 
Miss  Lavender,  who  was  in  a  state  of  nervous 
tension,  to  collapse  into  a  fit  of  hysterical  giggling 
which  would  not  be  suppressed. 

Caroline  stood  in  the  doorway,  a  dish  of 
potatoes  in  her  hand,  and  the  undescribable 
'tock'  on  her  head  (from  which  a  bunch  of 
currants  had  detached  itself  and  hung  pendent 
from  her  back  hair,  making  her  look,  for  all  the 
world,  like  a  Bacchante  who  had  seen  better 
days),  and  surveyed  Miss  Lavender  with  open 
mouth.  There  was  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that 
her  brain  had  given  way  under  the  shock. 

'  I'd  better  step  down  and  ask  Dr.  Cruickshank 
to  call  in,'  she  said,  advancing  cautiously  into  the 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  201 

room  and  sliding  the  potatoes  on  to  the  table  at 
the  opposite  end  to  where  Miss  Lavender  sat. 

With  a  tremendous  effort  Miss  Lavender  re- 
covered her  composure,  and  sat  up  trying  to  look 
as  if  nothing  unusual  had  occurred.  She  knew 
she  had  disgraced  herself  for  ever  in  Caroline's 
eyes,  but  it  was  no  use  trying  to  explain  how  near 
akin  laughter  is  to  tears  sometimes,  and  how,  if 
one  does  not  want  to  cry,  one  is  bound  to  laugh 
on  the  flimsiest  pretext. 

'  There  is  no  need  to  trouble  Dr.  Cruickshank,' 
she  said,  carefully  avoiding  even  a  glance  in 
Caroline's  direction.  'And  you  need  not  wait,' 
she  added,  as  the  latter  still  hesitated  in  the 
doorway. 

It  is  useless  to  deny  that  Mrs.  Brill  thoroughly 
enjoyed  her  drive  to  the  church.  She  sat  well 
forward,  grasping  a  handkerchief  with  a  deep 
black  border  in  her  hand  with  which  she  wiped 
away  non-existent  tears  each  time  she  noticed  an 
acquaintance  on  the  path.  Her  own  cottage  had 
been  converted  into  a  kind  of  miniature  Grand 
Stand,  in  order  that  her  neighbours  might  have 


202  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

an  opportunity  of  watching  her  triumphal  prog- 
ress, for  though  the  blinds  were  vigorously 
drawn,  various  female  figures  could  be  observed 
wedged  between  them  and  the  windows,  while, 
in  the  garden,  a  row  of  infant  Brills  hung  over 
the  low  wall  in  front,  and  one  small  boy,  evidently 
confusing  the  issue  of  events,  raised  a  shrill  cheer, 
to  be  punched  into  silence  by  an  elder  sister. 

Caroline  did  not  say  much  during  the  drive, 
for  which  Miss  Lavender  was  thankful.  Once 
she  remarked,  with  a  faint  suspicion  of  regret  in 
her  voice,  that  'Mother  'ad  men  walking  down 
each  side  of  'er  coffin/  then,  feeling  perhaps  that 
the  speech  savoured  of  fault-finding,  hastened  to 
add,  'But  then,  o'  course,  she  was  a  double  relic',' 
which  she  appeared  to  consider  a  satisfactory 
explanation. 

It  seemed  an  interminable  distance  to  the 
church,  and  Miss  Lavender,  sitting  back  in  her 
corner  of  the  carriage,  would  have  given  anything 
to  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  and  implore 
them  to  go  a  little  faster,  but  to  begin  with,  she 
had  not  the  courage,  and  to  go  on  with,  she  knew 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  203 

that  she  would  only  shock  the  coachman,  without 
doing  any  good. 

By  the  time  they  reached  the  lich-gate  her 
nerves  were  in  such  a  state  that  she  could  have 
screamed  aloud,  and  felt  that  it  would  have 
afforded  her  infinite  pleasure  to  slap  Caroline, 
who  had  commenced  to  sob  convulsively  the 
moment  she  caught  sight  of  the  knot  of  women 
assembled  on  the  path,  without  whom  no  funeral 
can  take  place. 

By  what  right  did  Caroline  make  such  a  to-do? 
She  had  not  spent  the  best  part  of  a  lifetime  with 
Euphemia.  She  had  not  stood  side  by  side  with 
the  dead  woman  and  watched  the  years  slip  by, 
girlhood  merging  into  womanhood,  womanhood 
retreating  step  by  step  before  advancing  old  age. 
She  was  not  the  one  left  to  grind  at  the  mill 
alone,  now  that  the  other  had  been  taken. 

'  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life.'  The 
words  dimly  penetrated  her  brain,  as  she  fol- 
lowed the  bearers  carrying  their  burden  with  slow 
heavy  tread.  Was  that  the  answer  to  the  riddle? 
Was  it  that  that  which  men  called  Life  was 


204  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

nothing  after  all  but  the  prelude  to  Life;  that 
this  world,  which  seemed  so  ridiculously  import- 
ant, was  merely  the  womb  of  Eternity,  and  that 
the  men  and  women  who  strutted  about  on  it 
giving  themselves  airs  were  only  children  yet  to 
be  born? 

1  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken 
away.  Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.'  What 
was  it  Euphemia  had  said  an  hour  or  two  before 
she  died?  'Perhaps  He  foresaw  you'd  have  need 
of  me  all  these  years.'  If  she  could  regard  her 
long  faithful  service  as  a  loan  from  God,  to  be 
repaid  how  and  when  He  willed,  Miss  Lavender 
could  too. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  point 
of  view  shifted  itself.  She  was  no  longer  a  poor 
atom  of  humanity  yielding  her  inalienable  rights 
to  a  pitiless  God,  but  a  debtor  paying  a  fraction 
of  what  she  owed  to  a  long-suffering  Creditor, 
and  the  thought  steeled  her  to  face  the  coming 
ordeal  with  courage. 

Caroline,  her  handkerchief  held  tightly  against 
her  mouth  in  the  manner  prescribed  by  etiquette, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  205 

could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  Miss 
Lavender  watched  the  coffin  lowered  into  the 
grave  without  the  shedding  of  a  single  tear. 
Like  so  many  people  she  was  utterly  unable  to 
dissociate  body  from  soul,  and  it  was  beyond  her 
powers  of  comprehension  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
it  was  no  more  Euphemia  who  lay  at  her  feet 
than  an  old  dress  of  hers  would  have  been. 

Miss  Lavender  turned  to  leave  when  the  short, 
simple  service  was  finished,  strangely  comforted 
and  refreshed. 

The  future  still  loomed  ahead,  terrific  in  its 
loneliness,  but  she  was  no  longer  sorry  as  one 
without  hope. 

Some  words  she  had  once  read  came  into  her 
mind — 'When  God  puts  a  burden  upon  us,  He 
lays  His  hand  underneath,  so  that  the  burden 
may  not  be  too  heavy  for  us  to  bear.' 

God  had  laid  a  burden  upon  her.  He  would 
see  that  the  load  did  not  prove  beyond  her 
strength  to  carry. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHILE  all  these  things  were  happening  at 
Diddlebury,  Bobbie,  in  London,  was  dancing  a 
sorry  attendance  upon  his  lady-love. 

One  would  certainly  not  have  imagined,  to 
look  at  him,  that  in  three  weeks  he  would  be  a 
happy  bridegroom,  and  still  less  perhaps  would 
one  have  regarded  Marjorie  as  being  within 
appreciable  distance  of  sharing  that  happiness. 

It  is  true  that  they  were  to  be  seen  everywhere 
together,  but  that  was  only  because,  like  Mary's 
lamb,  everywhere  that  Marjorie  went,  Bobbie 
was  sure  to  go ;  but  it  would  be  idle  to  say  that 
he  derived  much  pleasure  or  benefit  from  her 
society,  for  she  was  one  of  those  people  who  can 
only  enjoy  themselves  in  a  crowd,  and  even  a 
visit  to  a  theatre  or  music-hall  resolved  itself 
into  a  party  of  at  least  half  a  dozen,  and,  more 
often  than  not,  meant  for  Bobbie  a  couple  of 
hours'  sullen  boredom  sitting  at  the  end  of  a 
row  of  stalls  with  four  or  five  people  sandwiched 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  207 

in  between  him  and  the  one  individual  whose 
close  proximity  would  have  turned  the  most 
dreary  entertainment  into  a  pageant  of  pure 
delight. 

Bobbie  was  not  much  given  to  self-analysis, 
or  he  might  perhaps  have  laid  his  finger  on  the 
root  of  the  matter  and  confessed  that  his  dis- 
content was  grounded,  not  so  much  on  the  fact 
of  being  separated  from  the  object  of  his  affec- 
tions as  on  the  unpalatable  truth  (to  which  he 
deliberately  shut  his  eyes  lest  he  might  be 
shocked  at  its  nakedness)  that  he  was  not  alto- 
gether indispensable  to  her  happiness. 

He  might  perhaps  have  felt  less  resentment  if 
she  had  distributed  the  favours,  which  she  with- 
held from  him,  a  little  more  impartially,  but 
instead  she  elected  to  single  out  one  particular 
person  upon  whom  to  confer  them,  and  that 
person  a  youth  whom  Bobbie  loathed. 

Moreover,  Marjorie's  predilection  for  the 
youth  in  question  puzzled  Bobbie,  for  he  was 
the  last  man  in  whom  one  could  imagine  Marjorie 
taking  any  interest,  and  when  Bobbie  was  puzzled 


208  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

he  was  generally  inclined  to  be  a  little  fractious. 

Lord  Torpoint  was  the  only  son,  indeed  the 
only  child,  of  his  mother,  and  she,  as  she  was 
fond  of  plaintively  reminding  him  when  he 
threatened  to  run  counter  to  her  wishes,  was  a 
widow. 

Lady  Torpoint  had  a  large  number  of  stock 
texts  upon  which  she  was  accustomed  to  draw  in 
times  of  stress,  and  found  them  particularly 
effective  in  clinching  an  argument,  for  nobody, 
unless  a  professing  atheist,  can  refute  a  state- 
ment backed  up  by  biblical  authority,  except  by 
countering  with  an  alternative  text,  and  few  are 
capable  of  that  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

Lord  Torpoint  always  reminded  Bobbie  of  an 
owl  driven  out  from  its  dark  shelter  into  bright 
sunshine.  He  had  a  round  vacuous  face  with 
a  small  but  prominent  nose,  and  blinked  at 
the  world  through  large  tortoise  shell-rimmed 
spectacles.  He  always  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  making  some  profound  remark,  but  it 
never  got  any  further  than  that,  and  for  the 
most  part  he  maintained  a  solemn  silence. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  209 

Marjorie  had  only  met  him,  for  the  first  time, 
after  her  engagement  to  Bobbie  had  been  pub- 
licly announced,  and  when  she  discovered  that 
his  income  was  at  least  double  that  which  Bobbie 
would  eventually  possess  (in  what  might  quite 
possibly  be  a  dim  distant  future),  she  felt  she 
had  been  hardly  dealt  with  by  Fate.  But  Miss 
Chalmers  was  a  young  woman  who,  having  made 
up  her  mind  what  she  wanted,  went  straight  for 
her  objective,  brushing  aside  any  obstacles  which 
stood  between  her  and  it  with  a  ruthless  deter- 
mination that  challenged  Providence  itself  to 
intervene. 

She  was  much  too  cool  to  trouble  to  deceive 
herself  as  to  her  own  motives,  and  never  at- 
tempted to  gloss  over  with  a  veneer  of  false 
sentiment  the  reasons  for  which,  in  her  opinion, 
matrimony  had  been  ordained.  She  had  not  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt  that,  in  her  case  at  any  rate, 
it  had  been  ordained  for  the  help  and  comfort 
her  husband  might  be  to  her  in  prosperity.  Ad- 
versity never  entered  into  her  calculations  at  all. 
She  was  ready  to  have  and  to  hold  anybody  for 


210  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

richer  —  and  the  richer  the  better  —  but  most 
certainly  not  for  poorer. 

Therefore  she  felt  distinctly  defrauded  when 
Torpoint  arrived  upon  the  scene,  and  she 
realised  that,  were  it  not  for  her  engagement  to 
Bobbie,  she  might  reasonably  have  expected  to 
net  him.  However,  she  was  not  unduly  ham- 
pered by  scruples  of  conscience  where  her  own 
interest  was  concerned,  and  she  determined  at 
all  hazards  to  hold  him  in  reserve  4n  case.'  The 
past  was  past,  but  the  future  hadn't  yet  come  to 
pass,  and  often  turned  out  differently  to  what 
had  been  planned,  especially  with  a  little  ex- 
traneous help.  At  the  same  time,  she  was  too 
worldly-wise  to  be  off  with  the  old  love  before 
she  was  on  with  the  new.  There  must  be  no 
space  between  the  two  stools  through  which 
she  might  fall. 

So  she  promptly  proceeded  to  educate  Lord 
Torpoint  in  the  way  in  which  she  intended  him 
to  go,  and  had  him  well  in  hand  before  his 
mother,  who  had  once  met  and  thoroughly 
disliked  Miss  Chalmers,  had  sensed  the  danger, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  211 

and  when,  aroused  to  it,  she  had  entered  the 
lists,  armed  with  an  entirely  new  sheaf  of  texts 
suitable  to  the  occasion,  she  was  too  late.  Mar- 
jorie  had  quietly  gone  behind  her  back,  and 
surreptitiously  cut  the  apron  strings  to  which 
her  son  had  been  tied  since  he  was  short-coated. 
All  his  life  long  he  had  literally  never  left  her 
side,  for  schools,  both  private  and  public,  she 
looked  upon  as  mere  sinks  of  iniquity,  and  as 
for  either  of  the  Universities — well!  Babylon  in 
its  latter  days  was  a  kindergarten  compared  to 
them.  So  poor  Torpoint  was  dragged  up  by  a 
series  of  incompetent  but  servile  tutors,  who 
patted  him  on  the  back  in  adulation  when  they 
should  have  done  so  in  admonition,  and  he 
naturally  grew  to  man's  estate  about  as  well 
fitted  to  go  out  and  fight  against  the  world,  the 
flesh  and  the  devil,  as  a  chicken  is  to  escape  from 
the  talons  of  a  hawk.  In  Marjorie's  skilful  hands 
he  was  putty  to  be  moulded  at  will  (her  will!), 
and  she  took  very  good  care  to  see  that  she  alone 
carried  out  her  design.  No  outside  busybody 
must  be  allowed  to  mar  her  handiwork, 


212  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Bobbie,  though  he  was  too  honest  himself  to 
doubt  Marjorie,  nevertheless  had  an  uneasy 
feeling  that  he  was  being  made  to  look  slightly 
ridiculous,  and  about  this  time  one  or  two  in- 
cidents occurred  which  led  him  to  believe  that 
the  feeling  was  not  confined  to  himself.  Lady 
Torpoint,  for  instance,  who  watched  her  son's 
growing  intimacy  with  Miss  Chalmers  in  suspi- 
cious alarm,  bore  down  upon  him  at  a  garden 
party  at  which  they  both  happened  to  be  (neither 
Marjorie  nor  Torpoint  were  present  on  this 
occasion),  and  having  introduced  herself  to  him, 
practically,  though  not  in  so  many  actual  words, 
told  him  he  was  a  fool,  and,  after  firing  off  several 
texts,  recited  a  verse  or  two  from  'Locksley 
Hall,'  which  appeared  to  Bobbie  to  have  no  bear- 
ing on  the  situation,  but  seemed  to  afford  the 
excited  lady  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction, 
especially  at  that  point  where  she  spoke  of  some- 
body as  a  clown.  Bobbie  rather  gathered  she 
meant  him,  but  was  not  certain.  Anyhow  she 
displayed  considerable  annoyance  that  Marjorie 
was  not  with  him,  demanded  to  know  where  her 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  213 

son  was,  and  when  Bobbie  informed  her  he  had 
not  the  slightest  idea,  snorted  in  his  face  and 
stalked  away,  leaving  him  gasping  for  breath. 

And  when,  later  on,  an  earnest  but  indiscreet 
friend  drew  him  into  a  quiet  corner  of  the  Club 
and  hinted  the  same  thing,  though  without  the 
aid  of  texts  or  Tennyson,  Bobbie  for  once  lost 
his  temper,  cursed  the  earnest  friend  to  his  face 
as  a  tatler  and  busybody,  loudly  asseverated 
his  entire  belief  and  confidence  in  his  fiancee, 
and  inquired  why  the  devil  if  he  didn't  mind 
the  present  situation  anybody  else  should.  The 
only  fault  he  had  to  find  with  Marjorie  was 
that  she  was  a  darned  sight  too  good-natured, 
and  allowed  every  twopenny-ha'penny  whipper- 
snapper  to  take  advantage  of  that  fact.  Torpoint 
bored  her  to  idle  tears.  She  had  told  him  so, 
only  she  was  sorry  for  him  with  that  awful 
woman  for  a  mother. 

He  left  the  earnest  friend  shaking  an  uncon- 
vinced head,  and  flung  himself  out  of  the  Club  in 
a  fury,  not  appeased  by  the  fact,  which  he  re- 
fused to  admit  even  to  himself,  that  he  was  a  fool 


214  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

not  to  put  his  foot  down  and  insist  on  Marjorie 
behaving  herself  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to  make 
him  look  ridiculous.  Not  that  his  loyalty  to  her 
wavered  for  a  single  second.  He  clung  tena- 
ciously to  his  faith  in  her,  only  he  hated  that  she 
should  give  other  people  the  opportunity  of 
criticism  and  fault-finding.  Bobbie  had  arranged 
to  meet  Marjorie  at  Rumpelmayer's  for  tea  on 
the  afternoon  following,  and  when  she  turned 
up  with  Torpoint  in  tow  as  usual,  he  for  the 
first  time,  stirred  up  thereto  by  the  two  foregoing 
incidents,  voiced  his  resentment. 

'  I  can't  think  what  on  earth  you  see  in  that 
little  owl,'  he  said  with  unaccustomed  ferocity. 
'What  does  he  want  here?' 

Lord  Torpoint  was,  at  the  moment,  very 
slowly  and  deliberately  choosing  cakes  at  the 
counter,  peering  closely  into  each  plate  of  them 
as  if  he  expected  to  find  a  caterpillar  lurking 
there. 

Marjorie  stared  at  Bobbie  in  cold  disdain,  and 
gave  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

*  My  dear  Bobbie,  you  can't  expect  always  to 
have  me  to  yourself,'  she  remarked. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  215 

Bobbie  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

'Always!'  he  exclaimed.  'Do  I  ever  nowa- 
days? Why  do  you  encourage  that  miserable 
little  cur  to  be  for  ever  trotting  at  your  heels?' 

'  Please  don't  speak  of  my  friends  in  that  way,' 
she  answered  sharply.  'I  invited  Lord  Tor- 
point  to  come.' 

c  And  it  was  like  his  dam'  cheek  to  accept,' 
was  the  thought  in  Bobbie's  mind. 

1  Besides,'  went  on  Marjorie  frigidly,  'it's 
so  out  of  date  to  be  seen  about  everywhere  alone 
with  one's  fiance.  Do  try  and  remember  we're 
not  a  chemist's  assistant  and  his  young  woman.' 

She  deliberately  picked  out  the  words  in  order 
to  be  as  offensive  as  she  could.  It  was  intended 
to  be  a  sly  hit  at  his  father,  but  Bobbie  never 
noticed.  He  was  busy  wishing  with  all  his  heart 
that  he  and  Marjorie  were  in  a  stratum  of  society 
where  honest  love  is  considered  no  shame,  and 
was  thinking  enviously  of  some  of  the  couples 
he  had  seen  in  the  parks,  clasping  hot  hands  in 
an  ecstatic  bliss  which  made  speech  superfluous. 
They,  at  any  rate,  were  in  the  happy  position  of 


216  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

being  able  to  disregard  the  opinion  of  the  out- 
side world,  if  indeed  the  outside  world  had  any 
existence  for  them,  which,  to  judge  by  their  in- 
difference to  the  gaze  of  passers-by,  it  had  not. 

'  People  are  talking,'  he  said  doggedly. 

1  Are  they  ?  '  said  Marjorie  indifferently, 
'What  about  ?  ' 

1  Of  course  I  know  the  poor  little  blighter 
can't  help  admiring  you,'  he  said  quickly.  'All 
the  same,  darling,  I'd  give  him  a  hint  not  to  be 
always  sitting  in  your  pocket.' 

A  hard  glint  came  into  Marjorie's  eyes.  She 
didn't  care  a  straw  about  public  opinion,  but  she 
wasn't  going  to  have  her  plans  upset  by  busy- 
bodies.  She  glanced  across  at  Torpoint  hesi- 
tating uncertainly  between  a  chocolate  eclaire 
and  a  pink  sugar  cake,  then  back  at  Bobbie  as 
though  comparing  them.  She  must  get  at  the 
root  of  the  matter. 

*  Who's  been  talking  ?  '  she  asked  abruptly. 

'  Well,  old  Lady  Torpoint  swooped  down  on 
me  at  the  Altringhams'  show  yesterday ' 

So  it  was  to  be  a  duel  between  her  and  Tor- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  217 

point's  mother,  was  it?  Well!  The  old  lady 
was  a  formidable  adversary,  worthy  of  her  steel, 
and  appeared  to  have  taken  her  measure  pretty 
accurately.  It  would  be  wiser  not  to  be  off  with 
the  old  love  yet.  In  the  short  time  left  she 
might  easily  fail  to  bring  her  plans  to  fruition. 
It  behoved  her  to  walk  warily. 

'  Don't  you  trust  me,  Bobbie  ?  '  she  said 
reproachfully. 

'  Of  course  I  do,  darling,'  said  Bobbie,  all  con- 
trition in  a  second.  'But  you  see,  I  know  you, 
and  other  people  don't,  and  I  hate  to  hear  you 
blackguarded  for  no  reason.  That's  the  only 
reason  I  said  anything  about  it.' 

And  he  really  believed  what  he  said. 

Marjorie  smiled  a  little  contemptuously.  How 
easy  it  was  to  whistle  a  man  back  to  heel. 

Bobbie,  in  repentant  mood,  was  quite  genial 
to  Torpoint  when  he  reappeared  at  the  table 
with  the  cakes,  and  even,  when  they  had  finished 
tea,  proposed  his  driving  out  to  Richmond  with 
them  in  Bobbie's  car. 

It  was  as  they  were  getting  into  the  car  that 


218  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Lady  Torpoint  drove  by.  Bobbie  was  bending 
over  the  starting  handle,  so  she  only  saw  her 
son  and  Marjorie  and,  after  one  glare,  ostenta- 
tiously lowered  her  parasol  on  that  side. 

Torpoint  stopped  dead  with  his  foot  on  the 
step,  perturbation  written  on  every  line  of  his 
countenance. 

'  I  say!  That  was  my  mother!'  he  exclaimed 
in  tones  of  alarm. 

'  Then  she  doesn't  know  you're  out,'  Marjorie 
said  involuntarily,  then  laughed  right  into  his 
agitated  face. 

Little  beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  Tor- 
point's  forehead.  'She'll  be  awfully  angry,'  he 
said  despairingly. 

'  Why  ?  '  asked  Marjorie  sharply,  with  sudden 
change  of  front. 

Lord  Torpoint,  looking  the  picture  of  misery, 
made  no  reply.  He  was  no  diplomat,  and  could 
do  nothing  except  summon  up  a  sickly  grin, 
which  she  met  with  an  icy  stare. 

1  Perhaps  you'd  better  go  after  her,'  she  said 
freezingly.  'Don't  let  me  detain  you.'  She  held 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  219 

out  a  hand  as  she  spoke.  It  was  a  daring  exper- 
iment she  was  trying,  but  it  meant  she  was 
several  up  on  Lady  Torpoint  if  it  succeeded,  and 
she  was  fairly  sure  of  her  ground,  added  to 
which  there  was  always  Bobbie  to  fall  back  upon 
in  case  of  failure. 

Torpoint  wiped  his  heated  brow,  but  other- 
wise made  no  movement.  'I  shouldn't  think  of 
such  a  thing.  I  shouldn't  think  of  it,'  he  said 
as  determinedly  as  his  state  of  mind  would  allow, 
and  Marjorie  permitted  a  little  smile  of  triumph 
to  hover  on  her  lips.  She'd  scored  a  distinct  vic- 
tory over  Lady  Torpoint  and  made  her  own  posi- 
tion very  nearly  impregnable,  come  what  might. 

1  Let's  go  and  see  my  wedding-dress,'  she  sug- 
gested. 'Is  there  time,  Bobbie  ?  ' 

'  No,  there  isn't,'  said  Bobbie  decidedly.  He 
had  no  intention,  if  he  could  possibly  prevent 
it,  of  letting  Lord  Torpoint  see  it  before  the 
wedding-day. 

1  Bother,'  said  Marjorie.  'I  wanted  Torry  to 
see  me  in  it.' 


220  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Lord  Torpoint  beamed  on  her  adoringly.  She 
had  never  called  him  'Torry'  before. 

1  Why  can't  we  go  to-morrow  morning  ?  '  he 
proposed. 

'No.'  Bobbie  almost  shouted  the  mono- 
syllable. 'It's — it's  so  damned  unlucky  to  wear 
it  before  the  day,'  he  concluded  lamely  as  Mar- 
jorie  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

'  My  dear  Bobbie/  she  said,  'you're  as  super- 
stitious as  any  little  servant  girl.  Perhaps  you've 
looked  up  in  Old  Moore  or  Zadkiel,  or  whatever 
it  is  those  people  read,  to  see  if  the  wedding- 
day's  a  lucky  one.' 

Bobbie  coloured  hotly.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
he  had  come  across  a  copy  of  Old  Moore  when 
he  was  down  at  Starr  Cross,  and  glancing 
through  it  idly  had,  half  in  fun,  turned  to  the 
date  fixed  for  the  wedding. 

'  You  have!  Torry,  he  has  ! '  exclaimed 
Marjorie  delightedly.  'Tell  me  the  worst. 
Bobbie.  Do!'  She  clasped  her  hands  in  mock 
entreaty.. 

'  Oh,  do  shut  up,  Marjorie.    I  hate  chaffing 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  221 

about  it,'  Bobbie  besought,  but  she  paid  no 
attention. 

'  I  believe  it's  an  unlucky  day,'  she  declared. 
'What  are  we  to  do  about  it?  Tony!  you 
don't  seem  to  realise  the  tragedy  going  on  under 
your  very  nose.  Do  do  something,  propose  some- 
thing, for  goodness'  sake.' 

'  I — I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  what 
you're  driving  at,'  Torpoint  said,  blinking 
rapidly.  He  wasn't  equal  to  these  mental  gym- 
nastics, and  was  still  ruminating  over  what  he 
should  say  to  his  mother  when  he  got  home. 

'  Why!  Bobbie's  discovered  the  wedding-day 
is  an  unlucky  one.  Can't  you  think  of  anything 
to  save  us  ?  ' 

'  Be  married  the  day  before  instead,'  sug- 
gested Lord  Torpoint  with  unaccustomed 
brilliancy. 

Marjorie  looked  at  him  with  a  speculative  air. 

'  Quite  a  good  idea,  Torry,'  she  said.  'I'll 
think  it  over.' 


CHAPTER  XVI 

CAROLINE  BRILL  was  one  of  those  happily 
constituted  people  who  labour  under  the  delu- 
sion that  without  them  the  whole  machinery  of 
the  world  would  fall  to  pieces. 

The  entire  time  she  was  with  Miss  Lavender 
she  spent  a  great  portion  of  it  in  wondering  how- 
ever Brill  was  managing  without  her,  varied  by 
moments  in  which  her  imagination  boggled  at 
the  prospect  of  what  was  going  to  become  of 
Miss  Lavender  when  she  finally  returned  home. 
Once  the  excitement  of  the  funeral  was  over  and 
she  paled  into  comparative  unimportance,  her 
thoughts  flew  homewards  to  her  deserted  hus- 
band and  children  with  a  commiseration  quite 
uncalled  for.  Brill  was  having  an  exceedingly 
good  time  of  it  in  his  capacity  of  grass- widower 
His  eldest  daughter  at  the  age  of  fourteen  was  a 
far  better  housekeeper  than  his  feckless  wife, 
and  had  the  additional  merit  of  retiring  to  bed 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  223 

long  before  closing  time,  which  saved  all  possi- 
bility of  the  recriminations  and  reproaches  which 
greeted  him  on  his  return  home  under  Mrs. 
Brill's  regime.  It  was  certainly  annoying  to  be 
told  that  he  was  'no  better  than  a  beast  of  the 
field/  just  after  he  had  been  expounding  the 
superiority  of  the  working-man  over  the  dis- 
solute race  of  peers,  and  on  the  top  of  boasting 
that  it  was  he  and  his  like  who  were  the  main 
supports  of  the  British  Empire,  it  was  humiliat- 
ing to  be  reminded  that,  so  far  from  that  being 
the  case,  he  was  not  even  capable  of  supporting 
his  own  family  properly. 

Caroline,  imbued  with  this  sense  of  her  own 
importance,  had  determined  that  she  must  not 
announce  her  impending  departure  too  suddenly. 
News  of  that  sort  wanted  to  be  broken  gently! 

She  therefore  seized  the  opportunity  of  Miss 
Lavender  being  in  the  kitchen  for  the  purpose 
of  ordering  dinner  to  prepare  her  mind  for  the 
reception  of  the  impending  calamity. 

1  You  may  give  me  a  little  Irish  stew  for  lunch, 
Caroline,'  said  Miss  Lavender.  'I  think  there 


224  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

was  some  mutton  left  from  that  neck,  wasn't 
there  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  miss,  Irish  stew,'  repeated  Caroline,  a 
far-away  look  in  her  eyes.  'Brill's  very  fond  of 
stew,'  she  added  inconsequently. 

'  Is  he  really  ?  '  said  Miss  Lavender,  feeling 
rather  as  if  it  was  a  hint  that  Brill  should  be 
invited  to  partake  of  it. 

'  Ah,  that  'e  is,'  Caroline  remarked  with 
fervour.  '  'E'll  not  be  getting  it  now  like  I  give 
it  'im.  Elsie's  a  good  gal  but  not  up  to  a  stew 
yet.' 

'  I  don't  fancy  it  is  very  difficult  to  make,  is 
it?' 

1  It  'as  its  secrets  like  all  other  dishes.  It's  the 
pertaters  more  than  the  meat  as  counts  in  the 
cooking,  though  you  can't  get  a  gal  to  see  it.' 

'  Very  well  then.  Lunch — Irish  stew,'  said 
Miss  Lavender  in  tones  of  finality,  not  in  the 
least  wishing  for  a  dissertation  on  the  correct 
way  of  making  it.  'Now  what  about  pudding  ?  ' 
she  asked. 

*  Semmerlina  ?  '  suggested  Carolina  with  a 
fine  air  of  originality. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  225 

'  Ye-es.  I  don't  care  much  for  it,  but  still ' 

'  The  'ouse  '11  be  more  like  a  pigsty  than  a 
'uman  'abitation,'  remarked  Caroline,  pursuing 
some  train  of  thought  of  her  own.  'Men  are 
'elpless  creatures  when  let  alone.  If  it  ain't  a 
button  off  it's  a  tear  in  the  trousers  to  be 
mended,  and  all  took  as  a  matter  o'  course,  and 
no  thanks  for  it.  You  'aven't  lost  much,  miss, 
by  not  being  'ustled  into  the  'oly  state.  Once  bit, 
twice  shy!  That's  my  motter,  and  when  the 
blessed  release  comes  I  shall  know  better  than 
to  be  took  in  a  second  time,  if  so  invited.  Mean- 
time, 'aving  'ad  a  burden  put  upon  me,  it  ain't 
my  place  to  rebel.  Duty's  duty,  call  it  whatever 
other  name  you  will,  and  I  ain't  the  one  to  shirk 
mine.  I'm  sure  it  'as  been  a  pleasure  to  be  with 
you,  miss,  at  this  melancholy  time,  but  all  things 
come  to  an  end,  and  I'm  afraid  I  shall  'ave  to 
leave  you  this  day  week.'  She  stopped  quite  out 
of  breath,  and  Miss  Lavender  gasped  in 
sympathy. 

'  Of  course,  Caroline,'  she  said.  'Perhaps  you 
would  like  to  go  immediately.  I  can  quite  under- 


226  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

stand  your  desire  to  get  back  to  your  husband 
and  children.  I've  no  doubt  I  can  manage.' 

Caroline  sniffed  aggrievedly.  This  calm  ac- 
quiescence in  her  departure  was  not  at  all  what 
she  had  bargained  for.  She  had  pictured  to  her- 
self Miss  Lavender  begging  her,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  to  reconsider  her  decision  and  not  to 
desert  her  in  such  a  hurry,  and  she  had  been  pre- 
pared, after  due  and  impressive  deliberation, 
graciously  to  accede  to  the  request,  but  this  un- 
ruffled acceptance  of  her  announcement  com- 
pletely took  the  wind  out  of  her  sails,  and  she 
began  hurriedly  to  recant. 

*  Not  but  what  Elsie  does  very  nicely  for  'er 
father,'  she  observed.  'And  it's  good  practice 
for  'er  in  case  I'm  taken  first,  as  there's  never 
no  knowing  but  what  I  may,  death  being  promis- 
cuous in  its  'abits,  and  not  to  be  depended  upon, 
and  Brill  'aving  always  discomfited  me  from  the 
start.  So,  miss,  since  it's  to  oblige  you,  and  for 
the  sake  of  the  poor  dear  'oo's  gone,  I  won't  be 
the  one  to  leave  you  in  the  lurch,  not  for  twenty 
Brills  I  won't,  so  make  your  mind  easy.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  227 

1  Oh,  but  it's  quite  all  right,  Caroline,  really,' 
Miss  Lavender  assured  her  hastily.  'You  see, 
Mr.  Tidd  has  very  kindly  invited  me  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Starr  Cross  whenever  I  like,  and  so  I've 
only  to  send  a  note  round  to  say  I'm  coming. 
I'll  arrange  to  go  there  the  day  after  to-morrow; 
that  will  set  you  free  to  return  home.' 

Caroline  grunted. 

'  And  'oo's  to  see  to  the  'ouse  while  you're 
away  ?  '  she  asked. 

'  Oh,  don't  you  think  it  will  be  safe  to  lock  it 
up  and  leave  it,  if  I  take  the  spoons  and  teapot 
with  me  ?  '  Miss  Lavender  said,  a  little  daunted 
by  this  aspect  of  the  case  which  now  presented 
itself  to  her  for  the  first  time. 

<  Maybe  it  will,  but  then  again  maybe  it 
won't,'  hazarded  Caroline.  'One  'ears  of  such 
tales  that  I  should  never  be  surprised  at  what 
'appened.  Only  last  Tuesday  week  I  was  reading 
in  Brill's  Sunday  newspaper  'ow  burglars  'ad 
driven  up,  as  bold  as  brass,  to  an  'ouse  at 
'Ackney  when  the  owner  of  it  was  away  on  'is 
'oliday,  and  'ad  carted  off  every  stick  of  furni- 


228  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

ture  under  the  noses  of  the  neighbours,  and  when 
the  poor  gentleman  come  back  there  wasn't  a 
bed  to  sleep  in,  much  less  a  saucepan  to  cook  the 
dinner  in;  which  reminds  me — 'ad  we  fixed  on 
the  semmerlina  once  and  for  all  ?  ' 

1  Yes,  I  think  so ;  and  for  dinner ' 

1  The  daring  of  it,  when  you  come  to  think! 
If  they'd  left  a  gal  in  the  'ouse  it  could  never 
'ave  'appened,  but  there  it  was,  you  see!  The 
'ouse  being  empty  the  burglars  was  able  to  work 
at  their  leisure.  Not  that  I  'old  with  leaving 
gals  alone  in  an  empty  'ouse;  and  to  go  on  with, 
empty  it  would  not  be  in  such  a  case.' 

'  It  is  extremely  unlikely  that  anybody  would 
risk  breaking  in  and  stealing  my  furniture  even 
if  I  did  leave  the  house  without  a  single  person 
in  it.  No.  That  will  be  the  best  plan,  for  me  to 
move  to  Starr  Cross  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  while  I'm  there  I  can  be  looking  out  for  a 
maid.'  Miss  Lavender  gave  a  little  sigh  as  she 
spoke.  She  knew  it  was  absurd,  but  she  hated 
the  idea  of  a  stranger  in  Euphemia's  place. 

'  I'd  be  sorry  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  one  o'  the 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  229 

gals  one  sees  nowadays,'  said  Caroline  with 
gloomy  foreboding.  Their  words  are  softer  than 
butter,  'aving  war  in  their  'earts,  or  if  it  ain't 
war  it's  followers.  Look  at  that  Eliza  of 
Bowerses!  I  see  'er  go  past  'ere  Sunday  after- 
noon with  the  young  feller  'oo  mends  bicycle 
punkahs  in  that  little  shed  that  looks  like  a 
second- 'and  fowl  'ouse  on  the  road  to  Frippon, 
talking  and  laughing  as  free  and  easy  as  if  she 
was  walking  out  with  'im  instead  of  'olding  'im 
in  reserve,  like,  in  case  'er  young  man  in  London 
thinks  better  of  'er.' 

'  I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  engaging 
that  sort  of  a  girl,'  said  Miss  Lavender  a  trifle 
stiffly. 

'  They're  all  tarred  with  the  same  feather 
these  days,'  Caroline  observed.  "You  can't  'elp 
yourself,  and  would  you  mind  settling  what 
you'll  'ave  for  your  dinner,  miss,  then  I'll  know 
where  I'm  standing.' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.  JARVIS  was  a  tall  angular  lady  with  a 
long  angular  face,  which  looked  even  longer  and 
narrower  than  nature  had  intended  it  to  be  by 
reason  of  the  dangling  jet  ear-rings  which  she 
affected.  She  had  rather  coarse  browny-gray 
hair  strained  tightly  back  from  her  forehead,  and 
done  on  the  top  of  her  head  in  a  small  hard  knot 
so  exactly  like  a  drawer  handle  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  believe  you  were  not  meant  to  pull  it. 
She  had  somewhat  prominent  teeth,  and  a  short 
upper  lip,  and  she  had  a  habit  of  making  noble 
but  ineffectual  efforts  to  conceal  the  former  with 
the  latter,  a  habit  which,  taken  in  conjunction 
with  the  shape  of  her  face,  gave  her  an  extra- 
ordinary resemblance  to  a  horse  with  an  ill- 
fitting  bit. 

She  was  everlastingly  engaged  upon  some  in- 
tricate piece  of  knitting  or  other  which  involved 
her  in  abstruse  calculations,  and  which  pro- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  231 

gressed  at  about  the  same  rate  as  the  historic 
shroud  worked  by  Penelope,  for  she  was  con- 
stantly going  back  upon  her  tracks  and  unravel- 
ling yards  of  wool  from  whatever  garment  she 
happened  to  be  making,  and  hours  of  industrious 
labour  were  rendered  abortive  in  a  few  minutes, 
though  it  never  seemed  to  discourage  her. 

Miss  Lavender  did  not  find  her  exactly  an  en- 
livening companion,  but  she  at  any  rate  satisfied 
the  proprieties,  and  effectually  did  away  with 
any  qualms  which  might  have  been  felt  as  to  the 
acceptance  of  Mr.  Tidd's  hospitality.  And  if 
small-talk  flagged,  as  it  too  often  did,  there  were 
always  patterns  for  babies'  vests  to  fall  back 
upon,  and  'purls'  and  'plains'  were  as  thick  in  the 
conversation  as  bullets  on  the  field  of  battle, 
until  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Miss  Lavender 
felt  as  though  the  very  flowers  in  the  garden 
were  made  of  wool,  having  reached  that  stage  of 
obsession  when  even  her  sleep  was  disturbed  by 
frantic  endeavours  to  work  out  impossible 
designs. 

It  was  the  night  before  Bobbie's  wedding-day. 


232  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Mr.  Tidd  had  steadily  refused  to  take  part  in 
the  family  dinner  to  which  he  had  been  invited, 
and  was  merely  going  up  for  the  day  itself,  re- 
turning immediately  after  the  reception. 

The  sun  had  set  more  than  an  hour  ago,  but 
through  the  belt  of  trees  which  skirted  the  lawn 
on  the  left  a  warm  glow  still  lingered  in  the 
western  sky,  shading  off  gradually  into  the  deep 
purple  of  the  summer  night,  out  of  which,  like 
some  great  jewel,  shone  the  evening  star,  rivalling 
in  its  clear  cold  light  the  crescent  moon  which 
already  was  dipping  down  behind  the  shrubbery. 
It  was  so  still  in  the  garden  that  the  very  flowers 
seemed  to  be  asleep,  and  though  a  faint  breeze 
rustled  the  tree-tops  it  was  so  soft  and  gentle 
that  one  might  almost  imagine  it  to  be  the  kiss 
of  a  mother  upon  the  forehead  of  a  slumbering 
child  who  just  stirs  under  her  embrace  without 
waking. 

The  only  sound  which  broke  the  absolute 
silence  was  the  steady  click  of  the  needles  with 
which  Mrs.  Jarvis  was  knitting  what  she  called 
'my  guild  garment'  with  feverish  energy.  She 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  233 

sat  bolt  upright  on  a  high-back  chair  and  never 
stopped  working  for  a  single  instant,  except  at 
intervals  to  count  her  stitches,  and  even  that 
she  appeared  to  think  a  waste  of  time  judging  by 
the  hurried  manner  in  which  she  polished  them 
off  three  at  a  go  with  her  thumb  nail. 

The  other  two  who  sat  with  her  showed  no 
inclination  to  talk.  Perhaps  the  thoughts  which 
filled  the  mind  of  each  were  too  delicate  to  bear 
the  weight  of  words,  for  both  were  thinking  of 
the  future  and  of  what  lay  beyond. 

Miss  Lavender  had  determined  to  make  the 
final  plunge  and  bring  her  visit  to  an  end  the 
following  day,  though  she  had  not  as  yet  told  her 
host  of  her  decision,  for  she  dreaded  argument  on 
the  subject.  She  needed  every  scrap  of  courage 
she  possessed  to  force  herself  back  to  the  path 
of  loneliness  awaiting  her,  and  she  was  too  well 
aware  of  her  infirmity  of  purpose  to  dare  risk 
persuasion.  When  Mr.  Tidd  returned  the  follow- 
ing evening  he  would  find  her  gone. 

So  they  sat,  not  trusting  themselves  to  speak, 
drinking  in  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  night  which 


234  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

seems  so  full  of  peace,  and  yet  is  able  to  arouse 
such  fierce  longings  in  the  breast  for  we  know 
not  what! 

The  glow  in  the  western  sky  died  away;  one 
by  one  the  stars  came  out  to  join  their  herald 
brother;  the  tree- tops  were  lost  against  the 
darkening  heavens,  save  where  the  moon,  now 
beginning  to  set,  threw  them  into  relief.  A 
distant  church  clock  struck  ten  with  slow,  boom- 
ing notes. 

'  Twenty-two,  twenty-three,  twenty-four/ 
chanted  Mrs.  Jarvis  solemnly,  then,  digging  a 
temporarily  disengaged  needle  through  her  knit- 
ting, she  stuffed  it  into  a  work-bag,  and  rose  to 
her  feet. 

'  There's  ten,'  she  observed. 

Miss  Lavender,  seeing  what  was  expected  of 
her,  rose  also,  though  reluctant  to  end  the  day 
and  so  draw  a  little  nearer  to  an  unwished-for 
morrow,  yet  having  no  alternative  but  to  obey 
the  indirect  order  to  retire,  since  Mrs.  Jarvis 
was,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  her  hostess. 

*  You  don't  want  to  go  to  bed  ?  '  The  half- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  235 

question,  half-statement  of  fact,  came  from  Mr. 
Tidd,  and  at  it  Miss  Lavender  hesitated,  torn 
between  a  keen  desire  to  eke  out  the  evening  and 
a  fear  lest  she  might  appear  forward  if  she  re- 
mained. 

It  was  Mrs.  Jarvis  who  finally  clinched  the 
matter. 

'  Then  I'll  say  good-night,'  she  said  in  tones 
which  clearly  intimated  that,  though  perfectly 
aware  that  it  was  none  of  her  business,  she 
nevertheless  disapproved,  and  gathering  up  her 
impedimenta  she  took  her  departure  bedwards, 
leaving  Miss  Lavender  with  a  delightful  sense 
of  having,  for  once  in  her  life,  snapped  her 
fingers  in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Grundy. 

A  footman  entered  the  drawing-room  and, 
after  shutting  the  windows,  drew  down  the 
blinds  and  extinguished  the  lights,  but  from  the 
study  window  a  little  further  along  the  terrace 
a  lamp  threw  its  beams  out  into  the  garden, 
making  a  patch  of  bright  yellow  on  the  lawn. 
Otherwise  it  was  almost  pitch  dark,  for  the  moon 
had  quite  disappeared  by  now. 


236  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

Mr.  Tidd  helped  himself  to  a  cigar  from  a 
box  which  stood  on  a  wicker  table  at  his  elbow, 
and  striking  a  match  lit  it. 

'  I'll  be  gone  before  you're  down  in  the 
morning,'  he  said,  holding  the  match  out  at 
arm's-length,  and  watching  it  slowly  flicker  out. 

I  You  should  have  gone  to-day.  You'll  be  so 
tired,'  said  Miss  Lavender  sympathetically. 

He  chucked  the  spent  match  on  to  the  lawn 
below  the  terrace  with  a  jerk  of  the  wrist. 

I 1  expect  I  shall  be  tired;  I  expect  I  shall,'  he 
said  heavily.  'I'll  be  glad  to  be  'ome  again,  and 
have  it  over  and  done  with.   But  you'll  be  'ere 
when  I  get  back,'  he  added  a  little  more  cheer- 
fully. 

'  I — I'm  not  sure,'  said  Miss  Lavender 
flurriedly,  glad  of  the  prevailing  darkness.  '  I — I 
think  I  ought  to  be  getting  back  home  to- 
morrow.' 

1  You  ain't  going  ?  '  Mr.  Tidd  said  blankly. 

'  I — I  can't  stop  here  for  ever,'  Miss  Lavender 
replied  desperately. 

*  Why  can't  you  ?  '  asked  Mr.  Tidd,  with  such 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  237 

sudden  fierceness  that  Miss  Lavender  fairly 
jumped. 

'  What — what  an  absurd  question  to  ask,'  she 
said,  beginning  to  wish  most  heartily  that  she 
had  kept  her  presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to 
refrain  from  breaking  the  news  to  him  of  her  in- 
tention to  bring  her  visit  to  a  close. 

1  Is  it  so  absurd  ?  ' 

She  heard  his  chair  creak,  and  felt,  rather  than 
saw,  that  he  was  leaning  towards  her.  His  hand 
sought  hers  in  the  darkness  and,  when  it  had 
found  what  it  wanted,  rested  there  for  a  minute 
or  two. 

'  My  dear,'  he  said  earnestly,  'we're  two  lonely 
old  bodies  left  to  fend  for  ourselves.  Both  of  us 
have  been  called  upon  to  give  up  the  one  we 
loved,  and  in  both  our  lives  there's  an  ugly  gap. 
Why  should  it  be  absurd  if  we  try  to  fill  up  those 
gaps?  Are  you  afraid  that  people  will  laugh  at 
us?  Why  should  they?  Why  should  anybody 
wonder  if  we  shrink  from  going  down  into  the 
valley  of  shadows  solitary  and  alone?  There  was 
a  line  of  poetry  1  read  once,  and  a  line  of  it  keeps 


238  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

on  running  through  my  brain  all  the  time:  "In 
lonely  places,  thou  art  crowds  to  me."  That's 
'ow  it  went,  I  remember.  "In  lonely  places,  thou 
art  crowds  to  me."  My  dear,  we've  both  got 
plenty  o'  lonely  places  in  our  lives.  Why 
shouldn't  we  try  and  fill  'em  with  one  another? 
I'm  just  a  common  old  man,  and  you  are  a  lady, 
miles  above  me,  but  if  you'd  consent  to  marry 
me  you'd  make  me  very  happy,  and  I'd  do  my 
best  not  to  disgrace  you/ 

Miss  Lavender  had  managed  to  free  her  hand 
from  his  clasp  long  before  he  had  finished  speak- 
ing, but  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  when  he 
stopped,  and  a  curious  feeling  of  triumph  in  her 
breast — not  the  triumph  of  conquest,  but  a 
sweeter,  saner  triumph  arising  from  the  knowl- 
edge that,  whatever  might  be  the  upshot  of  this 
momentous  hour,  nothing  could  ever  take  away 
from  her  the  consciousness  of  the  fact  that  there 
was  one  person  in  the  world  who  wanted  her. 

It  was  only  for  a  brief  second  that  this  trium- 
phant feeling  lasted;  it  was  succeeded  the  next 
by  a  totally  different  one.  It  was  pity,  not  affec- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  239 

tion  which  prompted  this  offer  of  marriage — a 
sudden,  overwhelming  pity  for  her  forlorn  condi- 
tion. What  else  could  it  be?  She  had  nothing  to 
recommend  her  in  the  way  of  cleverness,  or 
beauty,  or  wealth ;  what  then  remained  but  com- 
passion to  account  for  this  unexpected  proposal? 
But  for  her  gauche  remark  about  not  being  able 
to  stop  for  ever,  the  idea  would  never  have 
entered  his  head.  A  hot  blush  dyed  her  cheeks 
crimson  at  the  recollection  of  it.  Perhaps  he  had 
read  a  false  meaning  into  it,  and  fancied  she  had 
been  leading  up  to  this! 

'  I  don't  think  you  realise  what  you're  saying,' 
she  managed  to  blurt  out.  'You  forget  I'm  an 
old  woman.' 

'  I  know  well  enough  what  I'm  saying,'  he 
replied  in  clear  even  tones.  'If  you  imagine  I've 
acted  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  you've  made 
a  big  mistake.  Now  look  here,  my  dear.  Pretty 
nearly  the  whole  of  my  life  I've  had  to  calculate 
ahead.  I've  taught  myself  to  weigh  the  future 
in  the  balance  of  my  own  two  hands,  and  I've 
learned  that  one  can't  afford  to  put  mere  senti- 


240  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

ment  into  the  scales,  so  don't  run  away  with  the 
notion  that  this  is  a  sudden  thought  which  has 
come  into  my  'ead.  I  won't  deny  I've  spoken  a 
bit  sooner  than  I  intended,  but  that's  neither 
'ere  nor  there.  It  was  just  selfishness  made  me 
do  it.  I  wanted  so  badly  to  'ave  the  right  to 
turn  to  you  for  comfort  when  I  got  back  to- 
morrow, but  I  see  now  as  I  was  wrong.  I  ought 
to  have  waited  a  bit.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to 
give  me  an  answer.  Take  time  to  think  it  over. 
Take  a  week,  or  a  month,  if  you  like,  and  then, 
if  you  feel  you  can,  give  me  the  answer  I  want 
and  make  me  very  proud.' 

'  You're  asking  me  out  of  pity,'  Miss  Lavender 
said,  the  tears  overflowing  and  running  down  her 
cheeks. 

'  Am  I  ?  '  he  said.  'Perhaps  I  am,  but  if  so 
it's  pity  for  myself.' 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Miss  LAVENDER  sat  by  the  open  window  of 
her  bedroom  trying  to  collect  her  thoughts  and 
restore  them  to  some  semblance  of  order  from 
the  chaos  into  which  they  had  been  thrown  by 
the  amazing  scene  through  which  she  had  just 
passed. 

To  say  that  she  had  been  surprised  by  the  pro- 
posal of  marriage  which  she  had  received  was  to 
put  it  mildly!  She  was  fifty-eight  years  old  and 
nobody  had  ever  wanted  to  marry  her  before, 
and  that  anybody  should  now,  made  her  feel  as 
if  some  elaborate  practical  joke  was  being  played 
upon  her.  Marriage  belonged  to  youth  and  love, 
and  she  was  an  old  woman.  Love  had  turned 
his  face  away  from  her  when  she  was  young. 
Was  it  likely  he  would  recognize  her  now  that 
she  was  young  no  longer? 

Her  first  sensation  had  been  one  of  incred- 
ulous dismay,  but  dismay  had  quickly  given 
place  to  a  kind  of  half-hearted  resentment. 


242  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

She  was  only  being  asked  out  of  pity!  If  there 
had  been  anything  lovable  in  her  she  would  not 
have  had  to  wait  all  these  years  without  some- 
body discovering  it.  Was  she  so  poor-spirited 
a  creature  that  she  was  to  submit  to  being  given 
a  home  like  any  starving  dog  out  of  the  gutter? 
Yet  what  had  been  his  answer  when  she  had 
taxed  him  with  that  very  reason  for  asking  her 
to  be  his  wife? 

'  You're  asking  me  out  of  pity,'  she  had  cried. 

'  Perhaps  I  am,  but  if  so  it's  pity  for  myself.' 

If  he  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he  said  that, 
why  should  her  own  foolish  pride  be  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  matter  at  all?  She  was  the  grantor 
of  pity,  not  the  recipient  of  it.  It  rested  with  her 
to  grant  or  to  withhold. 

*  Pity  for  myself.' 

Those  had  been  his  actual  words,  and,  at  the 
remembrance  of  them,  a  sudden  wave  of  tender 
longing  swept  over  her. 

There  is  not  a  woman  who  does  not,  deep 
down  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  look  upon  man 
as  a  species  of  child  to  be  spoilt  or  scolded, 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  243 

cosseted  or  slapped,  according  to  the  mood  of 
the  moment,  and — at  all  times — requiring  to 
have  his  buttons  sewn  on  for  him!  So  it  was 
with  Miss  Lavender.  In  one  blinding  flash  of 
light  it  was  borne  upon  her  that  here  was  an  op- 
portunity offered  such  as  would  never  occur 
again,  and  that  if  she  refused  it  there  would  not 
be  a  single  moment  in  her  life  in  which  she  would 
not  bitterly  regret  it,  and  with  the  knowledge 
came  a  strange  sense  of  well-being.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  been  battling  with  a  heavy  sea,  striv- 
ing to  reach  the  shore  and  being  slowly  but 
surely  carried  further  and  further  away,  and 
just  as  she  was  at  her  last  gasp  and  about  to 
give  up  hope,  realising  that  a  rope  had  been 
thrown  to  her  and  that  she  was  being  drawn  in 
to  safety. 

How  sweet  it  would  be  to  feel  that  there  was 
one  whose  name  she  had  the  right  to  bear,  whose 
arm  would  be  always  ready  for  her  to  lean  upon 
when  the  way  was  rough  and  stony,  to  whom  she 
might  look  for  help  and  counsel  in  perplexities, 
and  who,  in  his  turn— the  thought  was  there  in 


244  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

the  back  of  her  mind  though  she  did  not  give  it 
definite  expression — would  look  to  her  to  per- 
form all  those  duties  which  seem  so  trivial,  but 
which  a  man  is  so  helpless  over — even  to  the 
sewing  on  of  buttons!  In  the  first  agitation  of 
the  proposal  she  had  refused  to  give  a  decided 
answer,  for  she  had  been  too  confused  to  weigh 
the  question  properly.  Now  that  she  had  had 
time  to  think  it  over  she  wondered  why  she  had 
ever  hesitated,  it  seemed  so  obvious  that  there 
was  but  one  course  for  her  to  pursue.  She  could 
almost  fancy  that  her  whole  life  had  been  leading 
up  to  this  hour. 

She  had  hesitated  but  she  would  hesitate  no 
longer.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  and  there 
should  be  no  more  foolish  shilly-shallying.  He 
should  have  his  answer  before  he  left  for  London 
the  next  morning. 

Crossing  over  to  the  writing-table  she  lit  a 
candle  and,  sitting  down,  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
from  the  case  in  front  of  her. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  could  concoct  a 
letter  which  met  the  requirements  of  the  situa- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  245 

tion,  and  she  made  two  or  three  false  starts,  but 
at  last  she  just  wrote  these  words,  the  line  which 
he  had  quoted  to  her  only  an  hour  ago,  'In  lonely 
places,  thou  art  crowds  to  me.'  That  was  all, 
except  that  at  the  bottom  she  signed  her  name. 
She  knew  that  he  would  understand  without 
anything  further,  and  a  proper  letter  was  beyond 
her  powers. 

Slipping  it  into  an  envelope  she  fastened  and 
directed  it,  then  propped  it  up  on  the  mantel- 
piece against  a  vase  of  flowers.  She  could  send  it 
in  the  morning  by  one  of  the  maids,  before  he 
left  the  house. 

That  he  was  still  downstairs  in  his  study  she 
knew,  for  she  could  see  the  light  of  his  lamp 
streaming  out  on  to  the  lawn,  and  if  she  leaned 
out  of  her  window  she  could  hear  his  pen  scratch- 
ing on  the  paper  and  smell  the  scent  of  his  cigar, 
but  she  had  not  the  courage  to  go  down  to  him. 
Although  she  had  written  the  words  which  bound 
her  to  him,  her  old-maidish  prejudices  forbade 
the  impropriety  of  a  personal  interview  with  him 
in  his  study  at  half-past  eleven  at  night,  when 


246  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

the  rest  of  the  household  had  long  ago  retired  to 
bed. 

Carrying  the  lighted  candle  to  the  dressing- 
table  she  went  to  the  window  to  pull  down  the 
blind  preparatory  to  undressing,  but  before  she 
did  so  she  leaned  out  to  listen  once  more  to  the 
sound  of  his  pen  travelling  rapidly  over  the 
paper,  and  catch  a  whiff  of  the  aroma  of  his 
cigar.  It  seemed  to  speak  of  comfort  and  com- 
panionship, and  gave  her  a  pleasing  foretaste  of 
the  future. 

She  was  just  about  to  withdraw  her  head  when 
her  ears  caught  another  sound,  that  of  the  gravel 
crunching  on  the  drive  beneath  the  weight  of  an 
unmistakable  footstep. 

Instantly  her  thoughts  flew  to  a  diamond 
necklace  which  Mr.  Tidd  had  been  showing  her 
only  that  afternoon,  and  which  she  knew  was 
locked  up  in  the  safe  in  the  study  where  he  was 
sitting  at  this  very  moment  with  the  window 
open  on  to  the  terrace.  It  was  intended  for  to- 
morrow's bride,  but  he  had  refused  to  send  it, 
and  meant  to  take  it  up  to  town  with  him  when 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  247 

he  travelled  thither  the  next  morning.  What 
more  likely  than  that  some  thief  had  heard  of  it, 
and  was  coming  to  get  possession  of  the  valuable 
piece  of  jewellery!  If  that  was  the  case,  he 
would  probably  not  stick  at  any  means  by  which 
he  might  secure  it.  Hastily  she  blew  out  the 
candle  and  stood  at  the  window,  her  heart  beat- 
ing to  suffocation,  uncertain  how  to  act.  She 
listened  intently,  peering  out  into  the  darkness, 
and  was  beginning  to  think  she  must  have  made 
a  mistake  after  all,  when  her  eyes,  growing  ac- 
customed to  the  gloom,  detected  the  figure  of  a 
man  crossing  the  lawn  towards  the  house.  Before 
she  had  time  to  call  out  or  raise  any  alarm,  the 
figure  advanced  into  the  ring  of  light  which 
shone  from  the  study  window,  and  she  saw  with 
relief,  not  unmixed  with  surprise,  that  it  was 
Bobbie,  but  a  Bobbie  so  changed  that  she  could 
scarcely  restrain  from  exclaiming  aloud.  He 
walked  with  slow  heavy  steps  and  his  shoulders 
were  bent  and  bowed  like  those  of  an  old,  old 
man,  while  his  face  was  so  white  and  set  that  but 
for  the  bright  staring  eyes  it  might  have  belonged 


248  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

to  a  corpse.  What  could  he  be  doing  here,  slink- 
ing up  to  his  father's  house  like  a  thief  in  the 
night,  when  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  he 
was  to  be  married? 

As  if  it  were  almost  too  much  of  an  effort  for 
him,  he  stepped  up  on  to  the  low  terrace  which 
was  raised  a  couple  of  feet  from  the  level  of  the 
lawn  and  made  his  way  across  to  the  open 
window  immediately  below. 

'  Father,'  she  heard  him  say  in  dull  expression- 
less tones,  then  there  was  the  sound  of  a  chair 
being  pushed  sharply  back  and  Mr.  Tidd's  voice 
exclaiming  in  astonishment: 

'  Bobbie!    Why,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  ' 

Miss  Lavender  leaned  out  of  the  window  until 
she  was  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  headlong. 
It  was  perfectly  easy  to  hear  every  word  spoken 
in  the  room  below,  and  it  was  not  till  long  after- 
wards that  she  realised  with  a  blush  of  shame 
that  she  had  been  guilty  of  deliberate  eaves- 
dropping. At  the  moment  the  frantic  desire  to 
know  what  had  happened  and  what  Bobbie  was 
doing  here  at  such  an  hour  the  very  night  before 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  249 

his  wedding  outweighed  every  other  consid- 
eration. 

She  saw  Bobbie  lurch  into  the  room  and  heard 
him  say  in  the  same  even  monotonous  tones, 
'I've  come  home.' 

'  You're  ill  !  '  The  staccato  note  of  anxiety 
reached  her  where  she  stood. 

'  No,  I'm  not  ill,  only  tired.  I— I  shall  be  all 
right  in  the  morning.' 

1 1  don't  understand.  What  has  happened? 
Why  are  you  not  in  London?  Have  you  for- 
gotten that  to-morrow's  your  wedding-day  ?  ' 

'  My  wedding-day!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-Aa/  That's 
awfully  funny.  My  wedding-day!  Ha-ha-ha- 
ha-ha!'  Each  time  he  laughed  it  ended  in  a  kind 
of  high  falsetto  scream,  and  from  the  sound  she 
could  tell  that  he  was  not  far  off  a  fit  of  hysterics, 
and  evidently  his  father  thought  the  same,  for  he 
bade  him  quite  sharply  to  be  quiet,  and  she 
heard  the  clink  of  a  glass  as  if  something  was 
being  poured  out,  then  Mr.  Tidd's  voice  saying: 

'  Drink  this  and  pull  yourself  together.  All 
right,  boy,  I'll  'old  it  for  you.  Now  then.  What's 
up?' 


250  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  She — Marjorie ' 

1  Well  ?  ' 

'  She's  gone.' 

'  Gone!    Gone  where  ?  ' 

'  What's  it  matter  where?  She's  gone.  That's 
all  that  matters.' 

'  D'you  mean  she's  run  away?'  Apparently 
Bobbie  nodded,  for  the  next  thing  Miss  Lav- 
ender heard  was  Mr.  Tidd's  voice  again,  saying: 

*  Did  she — was  there — someone  else  ?  ' 

'  Yes.   There   was.   Damn  him,   damn   him, 
damn  him  !  ' 
'Who?' 

*  A  man  called  Torpoint.  A  worm  who's  been 
crawling  after  her  for  the  last  two  months.   A 
thing  who's  not  worthy  to — to  breathe  the  same 
air  as  her.   My  God!    If  I  could  only  get  hold 
of  him  I'd  slash  his  poisonous  carcase  to  ribbons, 
and  I  will  too,  I  will.' 

It  was  not  a  pretty  speech,  but  he  was  not  in  a 
pretty  mood.  There  is  very  little  to  choose  be- 
tween the  most  highly  civilised  man  and  a 
savage,  in  a  quarrel  which  concerns  a  woman. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  251 

Even  Miss  Lavender,  though  she  shuddered  at 
the  naked  brutality  of  it,  recognised  that  here 
lay  something  beyond  her  powers  of  comprehen- 
sion, something  which  she  instinctively  shrank 
from  but  dared  not  condemn  because  behind  it 
all  was  the  impulsion  of  nature  itself. 

'  Are  they — married  ?  '  the  question  came 
hesitatingly. 

'  This  morning.  I — I  didn't  get  her  note  till 
five  o'clock  though.  She  was  careful  not  to  let 
me  know  till  they  were  safely  out  of  the  way. 
That  shows  she  knew  what  I  should  do.' 

'  You  came  to  me  at  once  ?  '  There  was  an 
exultant  ring  of  gladness  in  the  demand. 

*  Why,  of  course!  There  was  no  one  else  to  go 
to.  Don't  you — want  me  ?  ' 

'  Want  you!  There's  not  been  a  minute  since 
you  went  away  that  I've  not  wanted  you.'  No 
faithful  lover  greeting  his  mistress  could  have 
put  more  longing  into  the  simple  words,  and 
they  proved  apparently  too  much  for  the 
wounded  soul  of  the  boy  who  had  been  so  cruelly 
used,  because  the  next  second  there  rose  a 


252  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

sound  which  Miss  Lavender  had  never  heard 
before  and  which  she  prayed  she  might  never 
hear  again,  the  sound  of  a  man  crying  as  if  his 
heart  would  break,  and  there  are  not  many 
worse  things  than  that  to  hear  in  the  world,  for 
a  man  does  not  give  way  to  tears  unless  he  is 
pretty  far  along  the  road  to  despair,  and  then 
not  in  front  of  another  man  if  he  can  help  it, 
even  though  it  be  his  own  father.  Each  heav- 
ing sob  seemed  like  a  physical  blow  striking  her 
in  the  face  and,  though  she  was  not  conscious 
of  it,  two  big  tears  forced  their  way  from  her 
eyes  and  rolled  unheeded  down  her  cheeks,  in 
silent  sympathy  with  a  suffering  she  was  power- 
less to  relieve. 

For  a  while  she  could  hear  nothing  but  that 
uncontrollable  storm  of  weeping,  but  gradually 
the  sobs  grew  less,  until  they  finally  died  away 
altogether  and  she  was  able  to  distinguish  once 
more  what  was  being  said.  It  was  the  older  man 
who  was  speaking. 

*  We'll  go  back,  shall  we  ?  '  he  was  saying. 
'We'll  go  back  and  try  and  make  everything  as 
it  used  to  be.' 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  253 

*  One  can't  go  back.  Nothing  can  ever  be  the 
same  as — as  it  used  to  be.' 

'  Can't  it,  Bobbie,  can't  it?  Won't  you  try? 
I — I've  been  very  lonely  since  you  went  away. 
You — you  mean  a  lot  to  me,  Bobbie.  Let's  try 
and  go  back  to  the  old  days,  shall  we  ?  ' 

*  I'll  —  I'll  try,  then.     You're  good  to  me, 
Father.  I — I've  thought  a  lot  of  you  too  while 
I've  been — away.   I — I've  felt  a  bit  lonely  too, 
just  lately.' 

'  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  ' 

'  I — I  couldn't  very  well,  and  besides ' 

'  Besides  what  ?  ' 

'  I — I  thought  things  would  be  better  after 
we — you  know.' 

*  We'll  talk  things  over  in  the  morning.  You'll 
be  glad  to  get  to  bed.' 

'  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  think— if  you  won't 
think  me  awfully  silly— I'd  like  to  go  for  a  long 
walk.  I  feel  as  if  I  want  to  be  moving.  I— I 
couldn't  stop  still.' 

'  I  understand,  boy.' 

'  You  won't  sit  up  for  me,  will  you?  I  daresay 
I  shan't  be  back  till  breakfast  time.' 


254  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'  You — you  are  coming  back  ?  '  There  was  a 
new  shade  of  anxiety  in  the  old  man's  voice. 

*  Why,  of  course  I  am.  And,  Father ' 

1  My  boy  ?  ' 

1  You've  been  the  best  pal  a  chap  could  wish 
for.  I — I've  been  rather  a  beast  lately.  I 
didn't  mean  to  be.' 

1  That's  all  right,  my  boy.' 

'And,  Father ' 

1  Well  ?  ' 

'  You — you  shan't  ever  be  lonely  again,  if  I 
can  help  it.' 

'  God  bless  you,  boy.  I'll  leave  this  window 
unfastened  in  case  you  want  to  come  in  early.' 

Miss  Lavender  saw  Bobbie's  figure  step  out  on 
to  the  terrace  and  disappear  once  more  into  the 
darkness,  then  the  light  in  the  study  was  ex- 
tinguished, and  a  few  minutes  later  a  heavy  tread 
passing  her  door  told  her  that  Mr.  Tidd  was 
on  his  way  to  bed,  but  she  remained  where  she 
was  without  stirring,  trying  to  recall  as  much  as 
she  could  of  the  conversation  she  had  recently 
overheard  and  dovetail  it  in  with  what  had  taken 
place  previously. 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  255 

One  sentence  particularly  stood  out  from 
among  the  rest  with  startling  vividness. 

'  You  shan't  ever  be  lonely  again/  Bobbie  had 
said,  and  it  was  the  recollection  of  these  words 
which  filled  Miss  Lavender  with  searchings  of 
heart. 

Was  not  that  the  reason  why  Mr.  Tidd  had 
asked  her  to  be  his  wife — that  she  might  fill  the 
lonely  places?  And  if  they  were  already  filled, 
what  excuse  had  she  for  accepting  him?  Clearly 
none!  If  she  became  his  wife,  she  would  be 
deliberately  putting  herself  into  a  false  position, 
ensuring  her  own  future  at  the  expense  of  an- 
other. So  her  conscience  told  her,  but  all  the 
same  she  was  sorely  tempted.  It  would  be  so 
easy  to  let  things  take  their  natural  course.  She 
had  only  to  carry  out  her  original  intention  and 
send  the  note  she  had  written  by  the  maid  who 
called  her  in  the  morning,  and  no  one  need  ever 
know  that  she  had  even  been  aware  of  the  altered 
circumstances  of  the  case.  Was  she,  who  had 
been  offered  bread,  to  thrust  it  aside  and  con- 
tent herself  with  a  stone  in  order  that  another's 


256  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

hunger  might  be  appeased?  Had  she  no  rights 
to  contend  for? 

So  she  tried  to  argue  with  herself,  but  in  her 
heart  of  hearts  she  knew  that  there  was  but  one 
answer  to  all  these  questions  she  asked  herself. 
The  verdict  was  given  against  her,  and  there 
could  be  no  appeal. 

The  first  streaks  of  daylight  were  brightening 
the  eastern  sky  before  she  moved  from  the  spot 
where  she  had  crouched  by  the  open  window, 
and  her  limbs  were  stiff  and  cramped.  She  un- 
dressed and  got  into  bed,  but  sleep  did  not  visit 
her  weary  eyelids.  All  through  what  remained 
of  the  night  she  tossed  and  turned,  first  this  side 
then  that,  peering  out  into  the  future  and  seeing 
nothing  there  but  the  menacing  spectre  of  utter 
loneliness,  a  loneliness  more  terrific  now  than  it 
had  been  before,  because  of  that  brief  respite 
which  had  been  granted  her. 

When  at  last,  after  what  seemed  hours,  the 
clock  on  the  stairs  struck  six,  she  felt  she  could 
lie  there  and  think  no  longer.  She  understood 
now  what  Bobbie  had  meant  when  he  said  he 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  257 

wanted  to  be  moving.  An  insatiable  longing  to 
get  out  into  the  cool  fresh  air,  away  from  the 
four  stifling  walls  which  closed  her  in,  seized 
upon  her.  She  would  go  out  just  for  half  an 
hour,  and  be  back  before  the  household  was 
stirring. 

She  huddled  on  her  clothes  anyhow,  dressing 
almost  mechanically,  for  her  brain  felt  heavy  and 
stupid,  and  her  head  ached  so  badly  that  she 
could  hardly  see  out  of  her  eyes.  Perhaps  that 
was  the  reason  why  she  failed  to  notice  a  small 
square  white  envelope  directed  to  Mr.  Tidd, 
propped  against  one  of  the  vases  on  the  mantel- 
piece, or  perhaps  her  senses  were  so  numbed  and 
dulled  that  the  sight  of  it  conveyed  no  meaning 
to  her  mind.  It  may  even  have  been  that  she  had 
forgotten  she  had  ever  written  it,  for  last  night 
seemed  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  her  memories 
of  it  were  dim  and  confused.  She  stole  out  of  the 
room  and  downstairs,  and  on  the  mantelpiece 
stood  the  note  untouched,  unheeded. 

She  made  her  way  out  through  the  study 
window,  which  was  still  unshuttered  and  un- 


258  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

fastened,  as  it  had  been  left  the  night  before 

A  soft  breeze  fanned  her  feverish  cheeks  as  she 
hurried  down  the  drive,  anxious  to  get  out  of 
view  of  the  house  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
everything  had  that  appearance  of  having  just 
been  furbished  up  which  is  only  to  be  seen  by 
those  who  take  the  trouble  to  rise  early  on  a  fine 
morning  in  June. 

She  turned  her  footsteps  in  the  direction  of  the 
Heath  when  she  reached  the  corner  of  the  lane, 
knowing  that  there  she  would  be  safe  from  pry- 
ing eyes,  and  presently  found  herself  ankle-deep 
in  the  dew-brushed  heather,  with  the  already 
busy  bees  darting  from  flower  to  flower  in  search 
of  honey,  while  on  every  side  could  be  heard  that 
low  hum  which  can  hardly  be  described  as  a 
sound,  but  is  more  a  vibration  of  the  air,  as 
when  a  chord  is  struck  on  the  piano  with  the 
loud  pedal  down  so  that  it  gradually  dies  away 
into  nothingness. 

In  the  middle  of  the  open  space  stood  a  small 
clump  of  silver  birches  on  a  sloping  ridge  of 
ground,  and  thither  Miss  Lavender  betook  her- 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  259 

self.  Arrived  there,  she  seated  herself  on  the 
bank,  leaning  her  back  against  a  convenient 
trunk,  too.  weary  to  go  further. 

For  a  while  she  sat  there,  the  same  thoughts 
that  had  tormented  her  all  night  still  revolving 
round  and  round  in  her  tired  brain,  but  by 
degrees  the  peace  and  beauty  of  the  quiet  spot 
acted  as  a  healing  lotion — her  limbs  relaxed  their 
tension;  her  eyes  closed;  she  slept. 

It  was  two  hours  later  that  she  woke  with  a 
start,  and  gazed  around  her  wonderingly.  For 
a  second  or  so  she  could  not  imagine  where  she 
was,  but  recollection  quickly  came  to  her.  She 
hurriedly  pulled  out  her  watch  and  looked  to  see 
what  the  time  was,  then  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  dismay.  She  must  hasten  back  if  her  absence 
was  to  pass  unobserved,  though  in  any  case  the 
maid  must  know  who  had  been  to  her  room  to 
call  her.  She  got  back  to  the  house  without 
meeting  any  one  until  she  reached  her  own  door, 
but  there  she  ran  across  the  housemaid,  who 
looked  at  her  curiously. 

'  It  was  such  a  lovely  morning,'  Miss  Lavender 
said  apologetically. 


260  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

'Yes,  miss,'  returned  the  woman  dutifully. 
'I  gave  your  note  to  the  master.' 

'  Wh-what  note  ?  '  asked  Miss  Lavender 
faintly,  clutching  at  the  handle  of  the  door  for 
support. 

(  The  one  you  left  on  your  mantelpiece,  miss,' 
answered  the  maid,  unable  to  keep  the  surprise 
she  felt  out  of  her  voice.  'Didn't  you  mean  me 
to?' 

'  It's — it's  all  right,  thank  you,'  replied  Miss 
Lavender,  falling  rather  than  walking  into  her 
room. 

Once  safely  in  there,  with  the  door  locked 
behind  her,  she  sat  down  on  the  nearest  chair 
and  gave  way  to  despair. 

Here  was  an  anticlimax  in  very  truth !  What 
imp  of  mischief  had  caused  her  to  overlook  that 
fatal  letter!  Why  had  she  not  destroyed  it  the 
very  moment  she  had  altered  her  decision?  She 
tried  to  excuse  herself  on  the  plea  that  Bobbie's 
dramatic  return  had  driven  all  recollection  of  it 
out  of  her  head,  she  tried  to  be  philosophic  and 
tell  herself  that  it  was  done  now  and  could  not 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  261 

be  undone,  but  neither  excuse  nor  philosophy 
altered  the  dreadful  fact  that  her  letter  was  in 
Mr.  Tidd's  possession. 

There  was  obviously  but  one  thing  to  be  done. 
She  must  go  boldly  to  him  and  tell  him  she  had 
changed  her  mind.  No  other  course  lay  open 
to  her. 

The  gong  rang  for  breakfast,  and  she  went 
downstairs  with  faltering  feet  and  a  heart  sick 
with  dread. 

He  was  alone  in  the  dining-room  when  she 
walked  in,  and  at  sight  of  her  he  came  forward 
with  hands  outstretched  and  a  smile  on  his  face. 

Poor  Miss  Lavender!  She  was  evidently  not 
born  to  be  an  intrigante,  for  she  entirely  forgot  to 
express  her  surprise  at  seeing  him  there  instead 
of  in  the  train  on  his  way  to  London,  but  the 
omission  passed  unnoticed.  He  supposed  she 
had  been  told  of  Bobbie's  misfortune  by  one  of 
the  servants. 

1 1  got  your  note,'  he  said. 

'No,  no.  It's  a  mistake,'  she  said,  putting 
out  her  hands  as  though  to  ward  him  off. 


262  A  VAGRANT  TUNE 

The  smile  died  away  from  his  lips. 

'  A  mistake,'  he  repeated  stupidly.  'Do  you 
mean  you  didn't  write  this?'  He  pulled  her  note 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  held  it  out  for  her  to  see. 

'  Yes,  I  wrote  it,  but  —  it's  a  mistake,'  she 
reiterated  dully. 

'You  mean  —  you've  altered  your  mind?' 

She  nodded,  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  speak. 

'Why?' 

The  question  rang  out  sharply  and  peremp- 
torily. 

'  Oh,  be  kind  to  me,'  she  cried.  'I'm  worn  out 
with  thinking.' 

'  Why?'  he  asked  again,  this  time  more  gently. 
'I've  the  right  to  know.' 

'  You  know  without  my  telling  you,'  she  burst 
out.  'You've  no  right  to  question  me  like  this.' 

'  No  right!  No  right,  when  it  concerns  me 
so  vitally!  I've  all  the  right  in  the  world.  Come, 
my  dear,  be  honest  with  me.  It  means  so  much 
to  me.' 

'  It  means  nothing  to  you.  It's  you  who've 
altered  since  I  wrote  that,  not  I.  You  only 


A  VAGRANT  TUNE  263 

wanted  me  to  fill  the  lonely  places,  and  now 
there  won't  be  any.  You've  got  Bobbie  back. 
You  don't  need  me  as  well,'  she  sobbed,  throwing 
pride  and  discretion  and  everything  else  to  the 
winds,  and  blurting  out  the  truth,  which  she  had 
fully  intended  should  never  pass  her  lips,  in  the 
agitation  of  the  moment. 

The  smile  came  back  to  his  lips,  but  now  there 
was  as  much  tenderness  as  gladness  about  it. 

'  So  that's  all  it  is,  is  it?'  he  said.  'You 
think  there  won't  be  any  more  lonely  places! 
As  if  a  man  ain't  always  lonely  without  the  one 
woman  in  the  world,  just  as  a  woman  is  without 
the  one  man.  My  dear,  you  can't  look  deep 
down  into  my  heart,  but  look  into  my  face  and 
tell  me  what  you  see  there.' 

He  drew  her  to  him,  and  almost  as  though  his 
will  forced  hers  to  bend  to  it,  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  his  and,  reading  in  them  the  message  from  his 
soul,  knew  for  a  blessed  certainty  that  there  were 
still  lonely  places  which  she  might  fill. 


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